Edge
by NeitherSparky
Summary: Sequel to Focus. Pt I: Summer School. Pt II: The Audition. Pt III: A birthday and a rite of passage. Done!
1. Part I: Chapter One

Edge  
a Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read 

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter One_

"C'mon, Mac, try again!" 

The toddler, after landing once again on his rear, rolled carefully to his feet and began inching his way forward while his six-year-old brother waited expectantly about three feet away. 

"C'mon, Mac," repeated Terrence, reaching out to catch Mac should he fall again. "That's good - Oops," he added as the toddler stumbled forward into his arms. Terrence turned triumphantly to their mother, who stood in the doorway. "See, I told you I taught 'im," he declared. 

Mom glowed with pride after watching her youngest take his first steps. Terrence had spent all day with him - she thought they were just playing. Suddenly remembering that she was holding the camera she lifted it to take at least one picture, even if she did miss the big event. 

Terrence dragged the toddler to himself and wrapped his arms around him. "See, I told ya so, you can walk," he told Mac. 

Mac laughed. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Mac screamed. 

"Oh, you like that, huh?" gloated Terrence, tightening the headlock he had his little brother in. "Well lemme get the other side for ya!" 

Mac shrieked as Terrence applied a juicy Wet Willie to his other ear. "Terrence, knock it off!" he cried, struggling uselessly against the bigger boy's strength. 

"All clean," announced Terrence smugly, shoving Mac roughly into the couch. "Won't Mom be proud. See you tonight, barfbag." Terrence snatched up his backpack and stomped out of the apartment, Mac glaring after him and rubbing his ears sullenly. 

The peace between the boys hadn't fared well in the weeklong lull between the regular school year and the start of Terrence's summer classes. Without schoolwork to keep him occupied, the older boy quickly fell back into his habit of torturing Mac, who was disappointed to say the very least. (Terrence being grounded hadn't helped at all.) Bloo had razzed Mac, who had been bragging a little about Terrence's harmlessness, about it for a whole hour before it slipped his mind entirely and he moved on to something else. 

Now it was Monday morning and Terrence was on his way to his first day of summer school. Because it was open year-round for various programs, the summer makeup courses for all of the middle and high schools in town were given at Tillman Academy For the Artistically Gifted, a seventh through twelfth-grade public school, which focused on the arts. Kids in the "regular" public schools tended to mock Tillman students for being "artsy-fartsy geeks," and Terrence wasn't thrilled to be taking classes there, though it was handy that it was within walking distance. He _wasn't_, however, thrilled with its close proximity to Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, which was barely a stone's throw away (to coin a phrase). Still, it was only for six weeks. 

But by his last class of the day, all shreds of optimism had been torn from the body of the thirteen-year-old, who sat slumped over his desk, staring dumbly at the paper in front of him. He couldn't believe it. What kind of sadistic teacher gave a pop quiz on the first day of school? Not even regular school, but _summer_ school. These weren't normal kids, these were kids who had done so badly in regular school that they had to come here to get back _into_ regular school. The teacher should already _know_ how dumb they were. Well, this was Terrence's opinion anyways. He didn't know hardly anyone who shared his classes, the majority were kids that normally attended the middle school across town rather than his own. He was the only eighth-grader from his school there, as far as he could tell. Further proof to his mind that he was, indeed, the dumbest kid he knew. Fabulous. Terrence pouted at the math quiz sitting innocently on the desk before him. This really, really wasn't fair. He gnawed on the cap of his pen in frustration, ignoring the ache from his recently acquired braces. Being dumb really bit the big one. 

As Terrence halfheartedly began to scribble down what he hoped, if not the right answers, at least plausible-looking ones, he began to regret not signing up for an elective. He might need the extra credit after all. He was taking English, Spanish, History, and Math - he had room for one elective, he just hadn't signed up for one because he didn't want to have to hang around this geek school any longer each day than he needed to. Although he found himself a little jealous at the nice campus, he couldn't wait until his time spent at Tillman was behind him. 

By the time Terrence handed in what he knew was a failing paper, he had made up his mind to suck it up and try to find an elective class that wasn't full. Of course, this was more easily decided than accomplished. Art: full. Ceramics: full. Drama: full. Dance: he'd rather repeat eighth grade for all eternity. As a last resort he wandered by the Music room just as the last class let out for the day. Music. His dad played the piano and Mom had tried encouraging Terrence to take up music some time ago, even buying him a used electric guitar thinking he'd go for it. It now sat in his room untouched, as he hadn't the patience to learn it. But hey, you never know, maybe he had some of his dad's talent after all. He figured he could stand to take drums or something. 

"I'm sorry," the music teacher explained, "but the drums are taken. My makeup summer courses are very small and I only allow one drum player. I always require my students to sign up in advance so I can distribute the instruments. But I did have a young lady drop the course today and leave one instrument open..." 

Terrence didn't hold out much hope that it would be a very cool instrument, and when the teacher walked over pushing a wheeled case almost as tall as Terrence himself the boy half turned, ready to walk out. 

"It's a cello," said the teacher, pulling it out of its case and extending the endpin. "Not the easiest instrument to master but well worth the effort. I was a little disappointed we might not have a cellist this year. Why don't you give it a spin?" 

But Terrence was edging towards the door. "Um," he said. "Nah, that's okay, I'll pass. Thanks anyways, Mr..." He trailed off, realizing he hadn't caught the teacher's name. 

"I'm Mr. Chesline, but the kids all call me Chess." He waited expectantly. 

"Oh, uh...Terrence Vaughn." Terrence continued his retreat. 

Chess raised an eyebrow. "Not one of your favorite instruments, is it Terrence?" he said. He rested the cello on its endpin and twirled it once. 

Terrence paused and raised an eyebrow right back. "I um, dunno," he said doubtfully. 

Chess cocked his head and appraised the boy. "You need extra credit, right?" he asked abruptly. 

"Well..." 

"You do know that Music is worth one more credit than most of the other electives, don't you?" 

Terrence frowned, mulling that over. "Well," he hedged. 

"All right, look," said Chess, twirling the cello again. "You need extra credit, and I need a cellist. Now at this point, I figure its either this or Interpretive Dance - that class never gets full up. What do you say?" 

The teenager paused, sizing the teacher up. "Chess" was a tall, wiry-thin African American man who exuded energy and wore a plaid shirt. Terrence didn't think he looked very dangerous, but then, he was rather suspicious of the harmless-looking ones. He glanced back at the cello, which seemed to stand there as innocently as the teacher. Terrence didn't trust either of them. 

At last Terrence broke the silence. "I don't have to take it home...do I?" he asked carefully. If anyone saw him pushing that case around he'd either be pounded to death or expire on his own of embarrassment. Besides, he wasn't too keen on Mac making fun of him or Mom swooning over him for being "talented" or somesuch crap. 

"Well," replied Chess, looking thoughtfully down at the instrument, "you don't _have_ to, but you're gonna have to practice it sometime. I suppose you could pop in here in the afternoons and use one of the practice rooms. They're open on Saturdays too." 

"I'm grounded on the weekends." 

Chess shrugged exaggeratedly. "Well then you'll have to get all your practicing in during the week. But it's only a six-week class, and I do like to give a concert on the day after the last class for the families." 

Terrence looked at him sharply. "A _concert?_" Great. Mom would make him wear a tie and fuss over him while she snapped pictures like a rabid member of the Paparazzi. Mac would love it. It would be awful. He rolled his eyes. Worst summer ever. 

Chess pulled a bow out of the cello case and walked over to a chair. "Well, you missed the first class, but I can get you started now," he said, waving at the chair with the bow. "And once you're comfortable with the instrument we'll play some scales. Unless," he added when Terrence didn't move, "you'd rather go visit Mrs. MacCurdy in the Dance studio?" 

Terrence scowled. Dirty pool. 


	2. Part I: Chapter Two

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter Two_

"Terrence? You're late." 

Terrence hung guiltily in the front doorway of the apartment, putting his key away. Mom stood before him, a reproachful look on her face. 

"You're early," he countered. 

Mom quirked an eyebrow at him. "Terrence, you know you were to come straight home after school," she reprimanded, standing aside so her son could enter. She shut the door after him. "You're only taking four classes. You should have been home two hours ago. Did you go to the mall?" 

"No," Terrence replied, more defensively than he would have liked. He glanced over at the couch; Mac was sitting there, pretending to watch TV. He tried to scrape up a plausible-sounding excuse. "I um...I was... Studying," he blurted, which was basically true. "In the school library." Which was an outright lie. 

"Terrence, you can study _here_," Mom replied, still standing over him, arms folded. 

"Well..." Terrence was faltering. 

"Have you seen the library at Tillman?" 

Terrence and Mom looked curiously at Mac, who had spoken. "That library is huge," went on the eight-year-old. 

Mom unfolded her arms and planted her hands on her hips instead. "Mac, when have you been to Tillman?" she asked. 

Mac shrugged. "Their library is better than the one at my school," he explained, "and they let students from other schools check out books. And it's nicer than the public one. I go there sometimes. But it's huge. I was lost in there for an hour the first time I went." He threw Terrence a prodding look. 

Unfortunately the thirteen-year-old didn't get the hint and just blinked stupidly at his little brother, having no idea what he was on about. 

Mac cleared his throat. "I'm sure Terrence was just looking for a book," he added. 

Terrence was silent. 

"And got _lost_," growled Mac. 

Ding. "Huh? Oh! Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah I got lost." Terrence smiled winningly at Mom, who looked suspiciously back and forth between her two sons for a moment, then threw her hands up into the air and turned to go to her bedroom. 

"All right, Terrence," she said over her shoulder as she walked down the hall, "you can study in the Tillman Library after school, but for heaven's sake, ask a grownup for help when you get lost. I don't want a repeat of the Winchester House to happen anytime soon." She entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

Terrence hesitated, casting Mac an uncertain look. He managed to turn it into a scowl and started to retreat to his room when Mac spoke up again, stopping him. 

"Pretty stupid, Terrence. Way to tick off Mom, breaking your house arrest like that." 

"Hey shut up, brain tumor," Terrence shot back. "I had stuff to do." 

"Like goofing off at the mall?" 

"I wasn't _at_ the mall!" Terrence told him. "And I _wasn't_ goofing off! I was doing...school stuff." 

"For two hours?" 

"I didn't even know it was that long, okay?" Terrence shrugged off his backpack and dragged it along behind himself on his way to his room. Before he shut the door behind himself he heard Mac mutter: "I guess somebody's never heard of a watch." 

Terrence dug around in the drawer of his bedside table, pulled out a long gold box, and opened it. Inside was the watch his grandparents had given him for his birthday last summer; he'd never worn it. This was probably a good time to start. For once, Mac had a good idea. He sat on his bed to set the time. He couldn't afford to get home any later than necessary: the music class was about forty minutes long, and if he practiced for maybe half an hour every day it would be a little easier to convince Mom that he was just studying in the Library. Of course, when he got home, he'd have to study for real, and she might get suspicious when he seemed to be studying _all_ the time. Maybe he could just pretend to be playing computer games or something. Terrence strapped the watch on once the time was set and lay back on his bed, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Doing homework in secret when he was supposedly playing video games. That's just crazy. Besides, it hadn't fooled her last time. Crud. 

When he had made the decision to do better in school he had expected the extra homework, but he had never seen the mind games coming. No wonder high school kids are so messed up, he thought. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Bedtime found Terrence hunched over the bathroom sink, threading floss through his braces. When the orthodontist had told him that the cleaner he kept the horrible things the sooner they'd come off, he'd made a vow then and there that he would keep them so clean they'd be in mint condition when he was done with them. By the time Mac came in to brush his own teeth Terrence was fighting to replace the rubber bands. Stupid overbite. Stupid braces. He'd already completely shredded one toothbrush. 

Mac had learned quickly that the optimal time to brush his teeth was while Terrence was occupied with his orthodontia; that way the older boy wouldn't be able to shove him into the sink or try to make him choke on his toothbrush. Quickly, keeping an eye on Terrence, Mac squirted toothpaste onto his toothbrush and started scrubbing. 

But Terrence was getting faster at replacing the rubber bands. He leaned on the sink and leered down at Mac, who spat quickly and hastily reached for his cup. 

"Hey," said Terrence, and Mac cringed. "Thanks for helping me lie to Mom before." 

That was unexpected. Mac blinked at Terrence, his mouth full of water. He spat into the sink. Did his brother just _thank_ him? Then Mac frowned. "You shouldn't _be_ lying to Mom," he said boldly, putting his cup back. "And you should be coming straight home after school. You're grounded. What were you doing?" 

"None of your business, pitstain," Terrence replied, turning on the water; and in a lighting-fast grab, Mac was locked under his left arm while his right fist busied itself with a sharp noogie. 

"Quit it, you jerk!" yelled Mac, his voice drowned out by the combination of the bathroom fan and the running water. Mom, in her room with the door shut, would never hear him. Terrence knew the tricks of his trade well. After a few moments Terrence let him go, wet one hand under the running water, and spattered Mac with it. Laughing, he went to his room. 

All was as it should be. 


	3. Part I: Chapter Three

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter Three_

"Terrence? What's wrong with your arm?" 

Terrence looked at his mother across the dinner table and frowned in confusion a split-second before realizing that he had been rubbing his right arm. It had felt rather like he'd been lifting small cars after messing with the cello that first day, but now after his first full class and practice afterwards it felt a bit more like he'd been gnawed on by one of those Extremeasaur things. Chess had warned him repeatedly to relax and quit gripping the bow so hard - he guessed he'd better start listening to the teacher. "Oh," Terrence said quickly, "um. Nothing. I...bumped it." 

"Well is it bruised? You really look like you're in pain. Is it swollen? Let me see." 

Terrence jerked away. "It's fine, Mom," he argued, reaching for his glass of milk with his left hand. 

Mac came in then from the bathroom and took his seat. He looked a little subdued and was silent. Mom noticed at once. "Is something wrong, honey?" she prompted him. 

"No," Mac said quietly, dumping one spoonful of corn onto his plate and picking at it. 

Mom frowned. "Aren't you hungry?" 

"Not really." 

Terrence, glad to have the attention off of him before Mom got too suspicious, ate his dinner as quickly as he could and fled to his room to start his homework. 

He'd felt weird in his first Music class today. The other kids, although he wasn't really familiar with any of them, all seemed to know enough about him to know that he wasn't exactly the type to play an instrument in school, and he felt their eyes on him all class. The string section - himself and three violins - sat in front, and he felt like he was being stabbed in the back by dozens of suspicious eyes. He wasn't too happy about having to face front and occupy both hands and not subdue everyone with vicious glares while at the same time trying to remember the lesson about fingering in the textbook Chess had given him the day before. After class he had sat in one of the practice rooms and played scales until he thought little black notes would tumble out of his ears. And as he sat in his room tonight trying to do his History assignment he couldn't get those stupid scales out of his head. He knew he probably wasn't pressing the strings right or holding his arms right or even holding the bow right and he found himself wishing the cello was there so he could get it correct before tomorrow's class. 

But the cello _wasn't_ there and besides, he had other homework to worry about. He pouted at his History textbook. Stupid History. Too much stuff happened in the world, how was he supposed to remember it all? Then he looked down at his other books, piled on the floor. He had assignments in all of his classes, and a test this Friday - in every single class. Stupid, stupid summer school. 

After he managed to complete all of his assignments he picked up the yellow electric guitar that leaned against the wall beside his bed and sat far into the night, fingering the neck idly, his mind repeating scales over and over again. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The next week, on Wednesday, Mom let herself into Terrence's room without knocking after dinner. From the look on her face he knew at once that he was in big trouble. 

Mom shut the door behind herself so Mac wouldn't overhear anything she had to say. "Terrence," she said dangerously, "what _have_ you been doing?" 

Terrence swallowed hard and dropped his pen onto his open Math book. His brain grabbed the handiest noncommittal response it could find: "What?" 

Mom stood over him like a dam about to break. "You've been _beating_ Mac again," she stated in a strained voice. 

Terrence stared. He knew that Mom was well aware that he picked on Mac but he also knew that she _wasn't_ aware of how much, because he had carefully taught Mac to keep his big mouth shut. In recent years, she had only caught him really pounding the kid once, last summer, and he knew that she was under the impression that that sort of thing wasn't a common occurrence. Terrence knew better than to inflict obvious injuries, and he was always careful not to touch Mac's face with much other than saliva. He simply knew better. 

But what was most surprising about the accusation was that the noogie he had given Mac after his first day of summer school literally was the last time he had harassed the kid. His attention, taken by classwork and music lessons, simply could not be stretched any farther. He shook his head at Mom in confusion, unable to come up with a reply. 

"Don't give me that blank look," Mom said, eyes narrowed. "Really, Terrence. He's just a kid, can't you leave him alone?" 

"But _Mom_..." 

"Terrence he's covered with bruises, I saw them this morning! And you, with your arm so sore you can barely lift it sometimes?" 

That one time last summer when Mom had caught Terrence beating Mac up, he wound up with a strained muscle in his shoulder from trying to yank Mac out of sight when Mom had entered the room unexpectedly. It had hurt for a week. Terrence couldn't believe it; Mom thought that his arm was sore from beating up Mac. Whom he hadn't even touched! "_Mom!_" he repeated, louder this time. 

"I don't know what to do with you boys sometimes," Mom went on furiously. "What do I have to do? Hire a babysitter?" 

Oh, hell no! "No!" Terrence blurted. 

"Then watch yourself." Mom paused thoughtfully. "Maybe you should stop studying at the Library. You always still seem to have a lot of work to do when you get home, you may as well do it all here and I'd like to know where you are at all times." 

Terror clenched Terrence's heart, and it surprised him that he was so anguished at the thought of quitting his Music class. "No, Mom!" he cried. "Please!" 

Mom looked at him, interested that she seemed to have inadvertently found a bargaining chip. She knew it was quite possible that her son was lying to her, that he was doing something other than studying in those two hours after his last class, but perhaps this could work to her advantage. "Then leave your brother alone," she told him, "or I will call home every day after your last class to make sure you're here." 

Terrence swallowed hard. "Oh...Okay," he replied, unable to see any way out of this. It was definitely weird to promise to stop beating Mac up when he'd already done so but he wasn't taking any chances. 

"All right then," said Mom shortly, and she left the room. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Terrence came to a conclusion that night while lying in bed: Mac had finally come up with a way to get him back after all those years. Obviously he had figured out that Terrence needed those two hours after school for whatever reason, and had told Mom that Terrence was beating him up so the older boy would get in trouble. The bruises? Probably from roughhousing with Bloo. And whether or not Terrence actually punished Mac for it the little brat could tell Mom that he was still bothering him and get him in _more_ trouble. Tattling on Mom when he wasn't even _doing_ anything. It was a perfect plan. He wished he'd thought of it. 

The thirteen-year-old tried desperately to decide what to do. Bribery? Mac would just milk him for all he was worth; he'd be a slave to his little brother before the summer was out. Threats? He could threaten to tell Mom about Foster's once and for all. That could work. Unless Mac one-upped him. And to be fair Mac had a lot of material to work with. 

In the end Terrence decided he'd better just play it one hundred percent safe and stay completely out of Mac's way, at least until summer school was over. At that point, of course, it just may turn into open season on little brothers. 

Avoiding Mac wound up being harder than Terrence initially thought. It seemed the kid was practically following him around while they were both home, acting like he wanted to talk to him or something. Terrence knew Mac was just trying to piss him off, trying to goad him into losing his temper and lashing out, which would only get the older boy in trouble. He couldn't afford that. So he made a point of leaving a room whenever Mac entered it wherever possible and completely ignoring him the rest of the time. After about a week of that, Mac seemed to give up, and stopped approaching him. Terrence figured he was in the clear. But he was about to get a nasty shock. 


	4. Part I: Chapter Four

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter Four_

"Terrence." 

The tone of Mom's voice suggested venom dripping slowly down a death adder's fangs. Terrence flinched hard and turned around, dropping his backpack. He had been on his way out the door to go to school - it was now his fourth week, and the Music class was deep into rehearsing their piece for the concert. Terrence was anxious to tackle vibratos again. 

Mom was looking particularly furious. "Stop right there," she told him, and he didn't dare budge. "Do you remember our conversation two weeks ago?" she asked him. 

Ordinarily Terrence might have trouble recalling a conversation that had taken place weeks before, but this one he had no trouble with. "Yes," he said hesitantly. 

"Look at this," said Mom, holding up one of Mac's shirts. "What do you see here?" 

Terrence looked. He was pretty sure he knew what the small brown spots were, but he was so petrified he couldn't bring himself to say it. 

"It's blood," Mom finished for him. "My God, Terrence. I'm at the end of my rope. That's it - today I want you home _right_ after your last class, I _will_ be calling, and you had better be here to answer. I'm going to be late for work. Don't you _touch_ your little brother when he gets home from playing." And with that Mom reached around the corner to toss the shirt back into the hamper in the closet; then she seized her attache case and purse from the kitchen table and marched out of the apartment without another word. 

Terrence stood, mortified, staring after her. Mac goes and bloodies himself up goofing off with Bloo and _he_ gets punished for it? Terrence barely reflected on how unfair this was before turning his attention to the fact that he would now have to drop Music. He tried to think rationally - now he'd have more time for his homework - but gave it up in anguish. Dammit, he _liked_ Music! He liked working with other kids on a project without actually having to talk to any of them. He liked Chess. And he liked taking an inanimate, wooden object and little black dots and lines on a piece of paper and turning them into music. He _liked_ it. It was hard, like regular schoolwork, but at the same time, when he did it, he felt like he was actually accomplishing something. That had never happened before. 

And now, because of Mac, he couldn't do it anymore. He tried to be angry, but he just couldn't muster it. Finally he trudged to school. His regular classes seemed to move a lot faster than they usually did, when he was looking forward to finishing them. But today he had to tell Chess that he couldn't stay for class. 

And as he had predicted, Chess looked disappointed. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow then," the teacher said, as the other students filed in and started taking their places. And then he saw the look on the boy's face. "Won't we?" he prompted. 

Terrence looked at his shoes. "I dunno if I can come anymore," he said miserably. "I have...to do something else in the afternoons." 

Chess stepped out of the classroom and drew Terrence aside. "Terrence," he said slowly, "is everything all right?" 

Terrence raised and lowered one shoulder. 

Chess stood quietly for a moment. "The class is waiting for me," he said at length. "Can you come see me tomorrow?" 

Terrence sighed, still not looking up. "Maybe for a minute." 

"Good. I'll see you then, okay?" 

"Yeah. Okay." And Terrence started for home. 

He was passing near the park when he heard something very familiar: 

"No! Stop it! _Stop it!_" 

Terrence stopped, cocking his head. Why did that sound just like Mac? It was that same desperate tone he used whenever he was trying to cajole his older brother into not beating him up. 

"Leave me alone! Let me go!" 

Before he knew what he was doing Terrence was running towards the voice, off of the sidewalk and down a grassy slope to a lightly wooded area on the outskirts of Van Dyke Park. A cluster of bodies could be seen under some trees, and now Terrence could make out the sound of adolescent male laughter. In a moment he was near enough to recognize all of the boys; he'd gone to school with them at Ferndale Middle School and would go to high school with them next year (barring failing summer school, anyways). These were the boys that he bummed around with when they had nothing better to do, chucking junk off of the overpass and waiting to jump little kids outside the convenience store for their candy and sodas. The six of them were commonly known as "The Dirty Half-Dozen" around town, not that they cared. Occasionally one or two of the boys had joined him in terrorizing Mac - always taking the role of herding the kid in Terrence's direction for him so he wouldn't have to run as far. None of them had ever been permitted to actually _touch_ Mac, however; that had always been strictly Terrence's domain. 

And now all five of these boys were in a tight knot surrounding Mac. Nolan had Mac's backpack and was dangling it like a carrot, trying to goad the eight-year-old into to jumping to get it, and Lucius was shoving Mac from behind every few seconds, daring him to make a run for it. Chris, Carey, and Don were just making sure Mac couldn't escape. 

The boys stopped laughing abruptly when Terrence came skidding up to them, mouth agape. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. 

"Hey Terrence," spoke up Carey. "Where ya been, man? Nobody's seen you around since school got out." 

Terrence ignored the question. He nodded towards Mac. "What are you guys doing?" 

"Aw come on, Vaughn," drawled Nolan, tossing Mac's backpack to himself casually. "We're just having a little fun. We'll save you some." 

Terrence glanced at his brother. Mac looked terrified, and he had a grass stain on one cheek as well as all over the front of his shirt. He looked pleadingly at Terrence, whose wheels were turning. 

"Have you guys been beating up my brother all summer?" he demanded suddenly in realization. 

"Relax," scoffed Nolan, rubbing his nose. "He's still fresh, we just got to him today." 

_"Don't you numbnuts touch my brother!"_

"Chill out, man," laughed Don. "Here, we'll share." And he shoved Mac roughly at Terrence, sending him crashing into the older boy's legs. Mac clung to Terrence's jeans and stared up at him, his eyes wet. He said nothing, but looked like he expected Terrence to hit him. 

Slowly, anger began to wash over Terrence as he blinked down at his little brother. He looked up and around at the assembled boys. "Book," he said, in a low and dangerous voice, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the street. "All of you. Now." 

The boys had been hanging out with Terrence for almost two years, and they respected him. They respected him for his creativity in coming up with ways to amuse themselves at the expense of others. They respected him for his ruthlessness, and his verve. They also respected him for his ability to hold his own in a fight. And usually, when Terrence gave them an order, they obeyed. And that's what four of them prepared to do now, taking a step back. 

But Nolan, his jaw set, stepped forward instead. He threw Mac's backpack to the ground. "What if we're not finished with him yet?" he challenged darkly. 

Mac crept around behind Terrence, still grasping the fabric of his brother's jeans. "Terrence," he managed at last, waveringly. "Let's just go." 

But Terrence's authority had been questioned and the thirteen-year-old was having none of it. He stood his ground and ignored Mac entirely, his hands forming fists at his sides. "_I_ say you _are_ finished with him," was his reply. 

"I happen to disagree." 

Lucius, Chris, Carey and Don hung back, interested. 

Terrence and Nolan locked eyes like a pair of lions sizing each other up. At last Terrence, knowing how it was going to be, let his backpack slide down his arm and he shoved it into Mac's chest, pushing the smaller boy away as he did so. "Mac, go home," he said, not looking away from Nolan. 

"Terrence..." 

Now Terrence turned his head to glare down at Mac. "I said go, _now_," he warned. He paid for his lapse in vigilance as the other four boys rallied suddenly behind Nolan, smelling a fight coming on the way a wild animal senses a storm. When Terrence turned his attention back to Nolan he found all five boys staring him down, predatorily. 

"I think you just volunteered to take the little faggot's place," said Nolan smugly. 

"No!" shouted Mac, dropping the backpack and rushing forward. He didn't have a plan; all he knew was that somehow he had to stop this fight from occurring. But Don was too quick for him. The big fourteen-year-old punched Mac right in the face, sending the small boy rolling backwards like a croquet ball. Don's guffaw of pleasure was silenced when Terrence, completely engulfed in fury, bodyslammed him into a tree. 

Mac got painfully to his feet, touching his mouth. He tasted blood. He looked on in horror as his brother disappeared under a tangle of bodies; arms and legs and fists flew, grunts of pain and exertion filled the air. Grasping at one wild hope, Mac turned and fled up the grassy slope back towards the street. 

Although he put up a good fight, Terrence got his ass kicked, and good. He was punched in the lower back and kicked in the stomach. His glasses went flying as someone's fist connected with his nose and blood seemed to go everywhere. He managed to wrench himself out of his red flannel shirt and wriggle away when someone grabbed him but an instant later someone else had a handful of his hair and his face was being smashed into the dirt, making him choke on bloody mud. More kicks rained upon his legs and sides and he was kneed in the back by whoever was pushing him into the ground. The Earth seemed to shake as he waited to lose consciousness. 

But suddenly the boys, screaming in fear, were off of him, and the Earth really _did_ shake as something huge came bounding up, roaring like a bull. And then for a moment it was silent. 

"Terrence? _Terrence!_ " Mac was beside him, trying to pull him upright. "Terrence?" he said again, unable to form a complete sentence. 

Terrence hunched over on his knees, lifting his torso from the ground. He swallowed convulsively, making him cough violently on blood and dirt. Mac clung to his arm as if he would fall apart otherwise. "_Terrence_." This time it came out as a sob. "Get up." 

Unable to speak, Terrence swung his head back and forth to indicate that he wished to be left alone to die in peace; but then a sort of hard hand slipped under his chest and pulled him to his feet. 

"_Muchacho desafortunado_," said a gruff but sympathetic voice that seemed to come from far above him. "I take you for help." 

Terrence twisted to find the source of the hand and the voice and was alarmed by the towering purple shape with long grey spikes coming from its head that blotted out the sun above him, blurred by the dirt in his eyes and the lack of glasses. He cried out in terror and flung an arm over his face to protect it from further assault. 

"No, Terrence, its just Eduardo." Mac was still clinging to his other arm. "It'll be okay. We'll take you back to Foster's. Okay?" he sought acknowledgement, or perhaps permission. 

Terrence turned his wide eyes on Mac and said nothing. Mac took matters in his own hands. He gathered up both backpacks, the broken glasses, and the torn red flannel shirt and let Eduardo guide Terrence (who resisted being picked up) back to Foster's, a few blocks away. Terrence wound up wadding his ruined shirt to his nose to staunch the heavy bloodflow; passersby stared but the three hurried on and were not stopped by anyone. 

"Christ on a cracker!" Frankie exclaimed, dropping an armful of pots when they lurched into the kitchen. "Terrence? Is that _you?_ What on God's Green Earth _happened?_ Come over here," she went on before anyone could answer her, taking hold of Terrence's arm and hauling him to the sink. She carefully pulled the hand holding the red shirt to his face away to have a look; she just as quickly let it go. "Holy schiznet," she declared. "Who did this?" 

Bloo picked exactly the wrong time to wander into the kitchen for a snack. "Mac, what're you doing back here, I thought you went home," he began, and then he saw Terrence, looking a fright, standing over the sink dripping blood. Bloo blinked. He looked back at Mac, with a split lip and covered in grass stains, then back at Terrence. Back at Mac, then Terrence again. At last, as could be expected, he jumped to the wrong conclusion. 

His eyes boggling, Bloo rushed to Mac's side. "Way to _go_, buddy!" he exclaimed, slapping Mac on the arm. "I _knew_ you had it in you!" 

Mac frowned at Bloo in annoyance; this wasn't a good time for his imaginary friend to be prattling on about something. "What are you talking about?" he tried not to snap. He focused on Frankie, who had procured some first-aid supplies from somewhere and was arranging them on the counter beside the sink. 

"Aw, don't be modest," grinned Bloo, looking over at Terrence the way one might survey a great work of art. "I knew that one day, one day you were really gonna let that jerk have it. He couldn't push you around forever." 

Angry, Mac opened his mouth to shout when Frankie clamped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. "Hey Ed," she said evenly. 

"_Si_, Frankie?" 

"Why don't you and Bloo go try out that new video game we just got?" 

"Video game?" 

"Yeah, the one in the fifth-floor left-hand linen closet hidden on the top shelf under the green fingertip towels," she replied quickly. 

"Cool!" said Bloo, seizing Eduardo by one hoof and turning to go. Eduardo cast a confused look over his shoulder and let himself be led away. 

"Well there goes my last bribe item," remarked Frankie under her breath, returning to Terrence, who was trying to wash his face in the sink. "Here, let me see." He turned off the water and let her feel his nose. "Well you're lucky, it isn't broken," she mused. "But you're going to have some nasty bruising." The purple was already beginning to show. "You're still bleeding - here." She handed Terrence a clean towel and, pulling a chair over, guided him to sit. "Tip your head back just a bit and put a little pressure here." Terrence had had enough bloody noses to know how to tend to one but he let Frankie fuss over him anyways. "When it stops bleeding put some ice on it." 

Then the young woman turned to Mac. "I'm sorry Mac," she said apologetically. "Are _you_ okay? Let me see." She picked him up and set him on the counter next to the sink. 

"I'm okay," he told her. 

"Are you sure?" She examined him carefully. "Looks like you got a split lip there, pal." 

Mac touched his lip. "Oh," he said. He hadn't realized. 

Frankie cleaned his face up and applied some antiseptic gel to the lip. "Okay," Frankie said slowly. "Why don't you - " 

"_Miss Francis_." 

Frankie glared at the trumpet-intercom on the wall. "What?" she yelled. "I have a crisis here!" 

"_Everything is a crisis to_ you_, Miss Francis,_" replied Mr. Herriman's slightly echoed voice. "_There is a...an incident in progress in the Laundry Room you must attend to at once._" 

"What _kind_ of incident?" 

"_It involves a surfboard, spray-on cheese, and Bendy._" 

"I'd better take this." Frankie peered at the two boys, who were sitting mutely. "I'll be right back, okay?" When they both nodded at her she turned and, grabbing a mop, marched out of the kitchen like she was going to war. 

Silence reigned for about a full minute before Terrence turned and squinted over the towel at Mac, who was still sitting on the counter. "How long have does guys bed bessing with you?" he asked nasally. 

Mac shrugged. "A couple of weeks," he generalized. It had actually been a bit longer. 

"You shoulda _told_ be." 

"I _tried!_" Mac replied, suddenly emotional. "I tried lots of times. But you wouldn't talk to me! You wouldn't even _look_ at me!" 

Terrence was actually confused by this for a moment before he realized. "Is _that_ what you were doig?" he blurted. "I thought - " He cut himself off. 

"What?" Mac asked him curiously. 

Terrence hesitated. "Bob thought it was be bessing you up," he replied slowly. "I thought...you were tryig to get be in trouble." 

"Mom thought it was you." Mac stated rather than asked, not sounded terribly surprised. 

"Yeah, I doe, irodic, idn't it." Terrence snuffled and shifted the towel on his face. "Well, dow I _will_ get in trouble, because I didn't get hobe right after school." When Mac threw him a confused look he elaborated: "She found your bloody shirt dis mordig and tightened by restriction. You really should be bore careful about hiding fight evidence," Terrence couldn't help but point out. "I could give you sobe lessons." 

"I'll tell Mom it wasn't you," Mac said quickly. 

"Doesn't batter. I'll still get in trouble for fighting today." 

Mac pondered. "Well, maybe she won't find out," he grasped at straws. 

Terrence lowered the towel and gave his brother an exasperated look. The whole center of his face had turned a horrid boysenberry purple, and the bridge of his nose had begun to swell. Mac winced. "Oh...yeah," he said. "Um...at least you've stopped bleeding?" he tried to find a positive. When the only reply he received was the irritated narrowing of eyes, he sighed. "Well, I guess you'll have to knock off whatever you've really been doing after school, then," the eight-year-old concluded. 

A sudden wave of despair rose up in Terrence's chest. "But I _can't!_" he exclaimed in desperation. His eyes watered involuntarily in response both to his anguish and a tingle that had suddenly surfaced in his swollen nose. Sneezing now would be painful and would probably start the bleeding again so he tried to ignore it. 

"What _have_ you been doing?" Mac asked a bit suspiciously. 

Terrence hesitated. "I can't tell you," he replied lamely. 

Mac heaved a sigh. "Terrence, Mom's not going to be very happy about all this, and I seriously doubt she's going to let you wander around for two hours every day when you're supposed to be grounded - " 

"I'm dot wanderig aroud!" Terrence argued. "I told you, it's for school!" 

"Well what _is_ it?" 

"It's - ah..." At that moment Terrence lost the fight and he started to sneeze; but before it could get out a bag of ice was dropped on his face, the pain effectively murdering the sneeze on the spot. Terrence yelped and grabbed the bag as Frankie, who had reentered the kitchen unnoticed, stepped away from him. 

"Try not to sneeze," she advised him. "You might start bleeding again." She threw the remains of a splintered, shredded mop in the corner and wiped cheese out of her hair. "Okay boys," she said, hands on hips. "Tell me. _Who_ did this?" She nodded towards Terrence's abused face. "Who hit you?" She turned to the smaller boy, prompting him for an answer. "Mac?" 

"Yeah." 

It was Terrence who had spoken. Frankie and Mac frowned at him, not knowing what he meant. "Yeah...what?" prodded Frankie. 

"Yeah," repeated Terrence around the bag of ice, which he was gingerly holding to his nose. "It was Bac." 

Frankie's jaw dropped, and Mac stared in surprise. "What do you mean 'it was Mac'?" Frankie demanded shrilly. "You don't mean that _Mac_ did _that_ to you?" 

Terrence nodded. "Yeah," he said once again. "Like Bloo said. Bac did it." 

As Frankie gaped at Terrence in unmitigated shock, Mac mouthed over her shoulder: "What are you doing?" 

But Terrence only glanced at him. "We got into a fight," he lied spectacularly. "I was...you dow...I was, chasing hib." His nose was still swollen enough to hinder his speech. "And er...I uh...jumped hib, and...he hit be." 

Frankie was floored. She was aware that Terrence picked on Mac, mostly from Bloo's recollections, and she didn't approve of it, no matter how much she tried to be polite to the older boy. He was Mac's brother after all, and he had been nice enough to take Mac's place at Foster's for a week a couple of months ago. But she just couldn't see Mac hitting somebody in the face, and especially with enough force to cause such an injury. She looked round at Mac, questioningly. 

As soon as her back was turned Terrence started making "go on" motions at Mac. Mac didn't like lying, to anyone; but he just couldn't fathom why Terrence would _want_ anyone to think that he had been owned by his eight-year-old brother. So, overwhelmed with curiosity, Mac found himself nodding at Frankie. "Um, yeah," he said slowly. "I...I didn't mean to hit him so hard but he was..." He glanced down at the grass stains on his shirt. "He was dragging me on the ground, and shoving me..." 

Frankie looked sharply back round at Terrence, who had the presence of mind to look ashamed. Mac made helpless shrugging motions at him over Frankie's shoulder. Frankie looked back around, and Mac put on an innocent face. 

Then Frankie turned back to Terrence. "Well!" she said loudly, crossing her arms. "I say good for Mac, then! It's about time he showed you he can stand up for himself! It serves you right, for picking on your own little brother! Oh yeah, I've heard about you," she went on, eyeballing Terrence, who scuffed his shoes on the floor uncomfortably. "Bloo's told us all kinds of stories - of course, Bloo's been known to exaggerate just a tad..." She touched her chin and rolled her eyes upward thoughtfully for a moment, then turned her attention back on the teen. "But _still_..." 

Mac coughed softly. "Um, Frankie?" He cleared his throat. 

Frankie glanced back and forth between the two boys for a moment, and had a realization. "You're right, Mac," she said at length. "I guess this really is between the two of you. I'll let you guys work it out. Listen, let me clean up a few things, and then I'll drive you both home, okay?" The boys nodded silently at her and she left again. 

Mac slid down off of the counter and approached his brother. "Terrence?" he prodded. "Why did you tell Frankie that _I_ hit you?" 

Terrence rolled his eyes at him. "Look, don't think I enjoyed dat, dorkboy," he replied, shifting the ice bag carefully; he winced. "I had a braidstorb and I went with it." 

Mac raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What was it?" 

Terrence took a tentative breath through his nose; the swelling was just beginning to go down. "Well," began Terrence, "how do you think Mom would feel if she found out that she was punishing me for something I didn't do while at the same time not doing anything about the fact that her precious baby boy was getting his precious ass whupped every day?" 

"Oh." Mac blinked. "Wow. You're right. Good thinking, Terrence." 

"Yeah, shut up, I'm not finished." Terrence sniffed again. "If Mom thinks that you can beat me up she'll lay off of the both of us because she'll think I'll leave you alone." 

Mac ached to ask if this meant that Terrence planned on _really_ leaving him alone but he felt he shouldn't press his luck. So he nodded instead. 

"And lastly." Terrence lifted the ice bag from his face and felt at his nose carefully before putting the bag back. "Maybe this way Mom won't hire a babysitter." 

Mac couldn't hold his tongue for this one. "A what?" he demanded loudly. 

"Mom threatened to hire a babysitter." They both shuddered. "I think I'd pretend _anyone_ could kick my butt to avoid _that_," Terrence admitted. Then he looked at his brother. "Hey Mac," he said thoughtfully, "how come you didn't tell Mom that you were getting beat up by those guys?" 

Mac hesitated. "Well, don't laugh, but..." He paused again. "I didn't want to get _you_ in trouble. I figured she'd think you were doing it no matter who I told her it was. Looks like I was right." 

"Why the hell wouldn't you want _me_ to get in trouble?" 

At that Mac scowled. "Because I'm getting a little tired of us hating each other," he blurted without thinking. 

Terrence lowered the ice bag. "You think I _hate_ you?" he asked incredulously. 

"Um...well...Not - " babbled Mac. 

"Geez, Mac," grunted Terrence, replacing the bag carefully. "And you're supposed to be the smart one." 

"That isn't what I _meant_. I know we don't really hate each other. It's just...you're a jerk." He decided to go for honesty. 

Terrence did the same. "And you're annoying," he shrugged indifferently. Suddenly he changed the subject, looking around. "Hey," he said, "where'd my glasses go?" 

Mac sighed. "You mean these?" He picked the broken glasses off of the table and held them out. 

Terrence didn't have to take them to see that they were twisted at an angle and missing a lens. "Oh, jeez!" he sputtered, again removing the ice bag from his face. "It took 'em a week to make those, I can't wait a week for another pair! What am I gonna do about school?" 

"Co? Co co co co, cocococo." 

Both boys looked over at Coco, who strolled into the kitchen just then. "Hi Coco," Mac greeted the bird automatically. Terrence just eyed her carefully; he'd never spoken to her before, just seen her around, and had concluded that she was very weird. 

"Coco?" 

She was talking to Terrence. "Yeah he'll be okay," Mac answered for him, knowing that Terrence didn't understand her. 

Coco looked at the broken glasses, still in Mac's hand. "Co co coco?" she asked him. 

"Oh, yeah, well..." Mac glanced at Terrence, who still had no clue what the bird was on about. "I guess I broke 'em," the eight-year-old said, remembering the ruse. 

"Co, co_co_ co co." 

"Yeah, I guess it _was_ kinda careless of me," Mac agreed. 

Coco sat and laid a lime green egg. "Cococo co co coco," she told Terrence. Terrence just stared at both her and the egg, deeply confused. 

"It's for you," Mac said. "There's a prize in it." When Terrence didn't budge Mac picked up the egg, which rattled, and put it on his brother's lap. 

Terrence slowly put the ice bag on the counter behind him and opened the egg as if he expected a cloud of vaporized acid to come steaming out. Instead a pair of glasses identical to his own, only intact, tumbled onto his lap. Terrence blinked at them. 

"Cool!" exclaimed Mac. "Thanks Coco!" 

Dropping the halves of the plastic egg, Terrence picked up the glasses and unfolded them. After throwing a mystified glance at Mac, who nodded back at him, he put them on halfway (not wishing to place them on his injury). 

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "You got the prescription right!" He looked at Coco through the lenses. "How'd you do that?" 

"Cococococo, co coco, co co co, cococococo co. Co." 

"Oh," Terrence replied, to be polite. "Well...thanks a lot!" 

Coco smiled. "Cococo co co," she said, and, after stopping at the fridge for a soda (which she held in her beak), she left. 

"How the _hell_ did she do that?" Terrence hissed to Mac as soon as the bird was gone. 

"Nobody knows." Now it was Mac's turn to change the subject. "Terrence, thanks for rescuing me back there," he blurted, wanting to get it out before he lost the nerve. 

Terrence looked sideways at his brother for a moment; then he hooked his free arm around Mac's neck and pulled him close (but not too close, as his t-shirt was still caked with blood and dirt). "Yeah you kinda saved my ass too," he replied. "But next time, _you_ fight and _I'll_ run away. After all, you're bully of the family now," he added with a smirk. "I'm so _proud_ of you." 

Mac rolled his eyes. 


	5. Part I: Chapter Five

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter Five_

After Frankie drove them home, Mac and Terrence waited in the kitchen for Mom to return from work. Although she was initially both angry about Terrence missing her phone call and shocked to see both the boys' injuries (especially Terrence's, of course), she took the explanation of Mac winning the "fight" well. As Terrence predicted, she, like Frankie, made comments about being glad Mac had learned to stand up for himself and that Terrence should think twice about harassing his little brother from then on; she also lifted Terrence's extended restriction, again allowing him to "study at the Library" after class. In fact, she added that he could stay a bit later if he wanted, which cheered him quite a bit. However, there was just the slightest hint in Mom's voice and expression that nagged at both of the boys, and they debated afterwords on whether or not she had really bought the story. In fact, the topic of the fictional fight was brought up a number of times in the future and discussed privately between the brothers, and they never could figure out if Mom had been humoring them. For her part Mom, if she suspected anything, revealed nothing on the subject until the end of her days. The only other person besides the boys who knew the truth, Eduardo, somehow managed to sense from Mac that he was never to speak of that day to anyone. And so he never did. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

When Music class let out the next day Terrence started to head to one of the practice rooms, but was stopped by Chess. 

The teacher nodded at the purple bruise on the boy's face (the swelling had disappeared), which had been stared at all day by the other kids but never questioned. No one had had the courage to ask what had happened. No one but Chess, apparently. 

"What'd you get into yesterday?" he queried after all the other students had dispersed. His tone was deeply suspicious. 

Terrence blinked at him, confused. "I uh...got into a fight with my brother," he said. 

"Your brother? He a big kid? He pick on you?" 

Terrence couldn't suppress a feeling of irony. "Um, well...not really," he hedged. "But I - " 

"You sure it wasn't someone else?" Chess went on, looking Terrence in the eye. "You can tell me, Terrence. Was it your father?" 

The boy blinked at him again, not grasping the situation. "My dad lives in New York," he said blankly. Actually, his dad lived on Long Island, which is in New York State, so it was true even though saying New York usually implied New York City. Saying New York instead of Long Island was usually easier though since most of the people who asked him were classmates who didn't necessarily know where Long Island was. 

Mollified, Chess backed off. "All right," he said. "Had me worried there. I understand getting into a fight with your brother. Got three of 'em myself. But there's just no excuse for a man to be hitting his kids." He put a hand on Terrence's shoulder. "Well," he said, shifting to a different subject, "I'm really glad you're back with us. You're sure you can stay, now, until the end of the course?" 

"Yeah. Yeah I'm sure." 

"Good." Chess squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Because I don't want to even ask you what I _want_ to ask you unless you're sure you can ride this out." 

"Ask me what?" 

Chess guided Terrence, carrying the cello and bow, back to his chair in the main classroom, and motioned for him to sit. He did so, while the teacher spun another chair around and sat in it backwards. He pointed at the cello. "Play something," he said. When Terrence didn't move he amended, "Shoot me some scales. Your choice." 

Terrence was confused but he did what he was told, selecting major scales at random. 

"With vibrato." 

Terrence added vibrato. 

"Now gimme a flying staccato." 

Terrence attempted a clumsy flying staccato, and Chess laughed. "Well that was pretty good," the teacher encouraged him. "I just asked for one for the heck of it." He looked at Terrence seriously. "You're a natural, kid, you know that?" 

Terrence peered suspiciously back at the teacher. "Yeah and so's every other kid who's come through here," the boy countered, not buying any of it. 

"Terrence," replied Chess, folding his arms across the chair's back, "do you even know what a 'natural' is?" 

This sounded suspiciously like a dig at his intelligence, and Terrence, who had lifted his right arm to tackle the failed flying staccato again, dropped it again in annoyance. "Why?" he snapped. "There gonna be a test?" 

Chess scuffed the heel of one shoe on the floor. "I'm not making fun of you," he said, knowing by now how sensitive the boy could be. He went on before he could be interrupted. "A natural is someone who is just _naturally_ good at something. They have an edge, a proficiency. They might have to work just as hard as everyone else but they have the potential to not just be _good_, but be the best. Terrence, I am telling you, I think you are a natural musician." 

Terrence hesitated, and looked away, not used to hearing he was good at something. 

"You're always so down on yourself - and everyone else, while you're at it," Chess went on. "But, honestly: you only first picked up a cello four weeks ago and you're doing fantastic. And it's not just your ability to read music - which is exemplary, by the way - but you're already beginning to develop technique. I can see it." 

Terrence scowled and waved his bow a bit in annoyance. "Come on," he argued. "I'm scraping a big stick with a little stick, here. A million years ago, a caveman did it and made fire." 

Chess laughed loudly, then stopped as Terrence got up to put the cello away. "All right, son, relax," he said, jumping up and putting a hand on Terrence's shoulder. "I _said_ I'm not making fun of you. I laughed because it was a funny joke. I don't know why you think you're so incapable of doing anything extraordinary. Sit down." 

Terrence sat back down reluctantly. Chess turned his own chair around and sat as well. 

"Listen to me," said Chess seriously, trying to get Terrence to look at him (he didn't). "This summer course is basically populated with kids who need extra credit. They might like music okay but that's not what they're here for. Now, my regular students, during the school year, _that's_ what they're here for. They love music and they love to play and I can see it. Teaching the summer students and teaching the regular students are two different experiences for me, and I gotta tell you, you're sticking out in this class like a snowman on the beach." 

Terrence looked at him curiously. 

"Okay, look, about the concert," Chess finally started getting around to what he wanted to ask Terrence in the first place. "Your family's coming, right? Your mom? Your brother?" 

Terrence coughed. "Um, I think my mom's gotta work," he lied quickly. No way was he going to even tell her about it. 

Chess looked disappointed. "That's too bad," he said. "Because, well...Usually I only have the kids play one piece, the one we've been practicing all month. But I was hoping we could do another...I was gonna ask you, what do you think about soloing?" 

"Soloing...what, you want me to get up in front of a bunch of strangers and play all alone?" Terrence was affronted by the very idea. "What are you picking on _me_ for?" he wanted to know. 

Chess suppressed a smile; the kid sure was paranoid. He liked him, though, he had personality. "Because you're good and I want to show you off to everyone." Chess grinned broadly and puffed out his chest with false bravado. "Because I want them all to say, why, that Seymour Chesline, he sure is a magnificent teacher if he could mold an ordinary teenaged boy into a budding virtuoso after only six weeks!" 

Terrence, as could be expected, had only really picked up on one part of that statement. "Your name is Seymour?" he shouted. "Like the nerdy guy in that movie with the big talking plant?" 

Chess rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Look, you want a solo or not?" he asked the boy. "There are quite a few good pieces with cello solos in them." 

"Wait...so I _wouldn't_ be playing alone?" 

"Just with your backup band." 

"You mean...I'd just be like...the lead guitar?" Terrence went on thoughtfully. 

Chess nodded. "That's about it." 

"And everyone else would have more music to practice because of me?" 

Now Chess feigned disapproval. "You a slavedriver or something?" he asked, amused. 

"Nah. I just wanna make sure I'm not working harder than anyone else." 

Chess had to laugh at him. "So what do you think? Wanna go on a one-night tour?" 

That was a bargain Terrence could make. Especially since Mom wouldn't be there to see it. "Sure, Seymour," he replied, giving the cello a spin. "Me and my axe'll knock 'em dead. But I want two hot chicks waiting for me in my trailer. Oh yeah, and pizza." 

Chess laughed again. 


	6. Part I: Chapter Six

**_Part I_**  
_Chapter Six_

Terrence sifted through his collection of t-shirts fussily, trying to find just the right one. Choosing one was made even harder by the fact that all his clothes were haphazardly jammed into his dresser drawers, but he didn't have time to worry about that now. He had to pick something to wear for the concert tonight. 

It was the Saturday morning after the last day of Terrence's classes. Mom had given Terrence a surprise at breakfast, granting him a one-day reprieve from his grounding today. He knew this wasn't just a reward for passing his classes (the letter to that effect hadn't yet arrived of course but it was a given with his fair grades), but had something to do with the fact that he and Mac hadn't fought once since Mac had allegedly given him a bloody nose. The whole ruse had turned out to be rather fun, actually - Terrence relished the look of surprise everyone always got when they inquired about his bruised face (they did finally start asking him at school) and he told them little Mac had done it. Last Sunday Mom had taken both of them with her to the grocery store and Terrence took great delight in slapping Mac on the back all day and introducing him to everyone as "Killer." At one point he even got Mac to join him in a "Dramatic Reenactment" for the entertainment of a couple of Mom's friends who worked in the deli department. Word had spread all over town via kidgossip that "Tough Terrence," the ringleader of the Dirty Half-Dozen, had been clobbered by his eight-year-old kid brother, and both boys found it all rather funny. 

Terrence was dreadfully relieved about having the day off from his restriction; this meant that he didn't have to sneak out for tonight's concert and risk getting in some real trouble - which he was willing to do. Chess was really counting on him. Besides, Terrence was looking forward to it. And it was a plus that the bruising on his face had faded significantly and he no longer looked like he'd been used as a punching bag by King Kong. 

But that wasn't good enough - he wanted his clothes to look good too. Of course there was no way he was going to wear his slacks, dress shirt, and a tie - that's what all the other boys were bound to show up in, and he wanted to be different. Without Mom going, he was free to wear whatever he wanted. Unfortunately he had told Mac to tell Frankie to throw out his favorite red flannel shirt as it was beyond ruined - surprisingly Mom never asked him where it had disappeared to (this was actually because she had always hated it and was glad to see it was gone). He'd felt a little weird without it these past two weeks but there was nothing for it now. 

Terrence pulled some jeans from the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled them on after changing out of the ones he was currently wearing. At least he had a clean pair. But he just couldn't settle on a shirt. And he fervently wished he had some new sneakers...his once-white shoes had slowly turned a dismal grey over the past couple of months. Too bad he hadn't had a recent growth spurt - then Mom would have taken him shopping. He was stuck with his current wardrobe. But his clothing woes weren't enough to dampen the good mood he was in. 

"Knock knock." Mom was outside. 

"Come in," was the cheerful reply. 

Mom stepped inside and shut the door behind herself. "Honey, I'm doing laundry today," she said. "Make sure to put your dirty jeans in the hamper. Your pj's too." 

"Yeah, I will." 

Mom sat on the bed and motioned for him to sit beside her, which he did, intrigued at her mischievous smile. "What?" he prompted her, smiling back. 

She grinned and ruffled his hair, and he was in too good a mood to pretend he didn't like it. "I'm really proud of you, you know," she said. 

"Yeah." 

"You know what you're going to do with your day off?" 

Terrence grinned wider. "Kinda," he replied. 

"Listen," said Mom. "I wanted to give you something." She pulled some money out of her pocket and handed it to her son. Terrence boggled. It was two fifty-dollar bills. 

"Mom, this is a hundred bucks!" he exclaimed. 

Mom nodded. "You know how your father always sends you boys' birthday checks early; well, I thought I'd just give you the money this year." 

"But...my birthday isn't until next month." 

"Yes, but...you've worked so hard, I thought you'd like it now." Suddenly Mom was surprised by Terrence throwing his arms about her, and she smiled and hugged him back. She knew he was a teenager now and figured himself "too old" for hugs, but she missed how affectionate he used to be. He often accepted hugs from her, but it was very rare these days that he gave _her_ one. 

Terrence quickly removed his glasses so he could press himself closer to Mom, and he let her hold him for a while. She was a lifesaver, giving him this money; now he could pick up some new clothes. "Thanks Mom," he said earnestly. "Thanks a _lot_." 

Mom sighed and rubbed his back, touched. "You're welcome, sweetie," she said. 

"But," said Terrence, pulling back a little, "do you really want me walking around with a hundred dollars in my pocket?" 

Mom gave him a serious look. "Maybe you should hire your brother to protect you for the day," she said. 

There was silence for a moment; then they both laughed. 

Terrence got up, putting his glasses back on, and headed for the door. "Well I'm going to the mall," he said. 

"Terrence, your jeans." 

"Oh yeah." Terrence grabbed the dirty jeans off of the floor. 

"And your pj's." 

Terrence grabbed those too, shooting Mom an angelic look. 

"Will you be home in time for dinner?" 

"Um." Terrence paused. "I don't think so." 

Mom smiled at him. "That's okay," she said. "We'll see you later. Have fun today." 

"I will. Thanks Mom." 

"Oh and Terrence," she called after him as she walked to her own room, "can you get your school stuff out of the living room?" He had left his backpack propped up against the couch. 

"Sure Mom." He opened the hall closet to stuff the dirty clothes in the hamper, and then went into the living room. Mac was sitting on the couch. 

"Hey, Terrence." 

"Hey nerdmagnet," Terrence replied mildly, reaching for the backpack. "Not going to the freak factory today?" He picked up the backpack and papers cascaded everywhere - he'd forgotten to zip it up. Grumbling, he dropped to his hands and knees to stuff everything back in. 

Mac made a face at the name Terrence had called Fosters. "I am," he said. "I just...well...Frankie's been asking about you, and Wilt's organizing a basketball game after the adoptions, and...you're off restriction..." 

"Yeah, so?" grunted Terrence, feeling around under the couch in case anything'd slipped under there. 

"So...You want to go?" 

Terrence lurched to his feet, zipping the backpack. "Do I want to go where?" 

"To _Foster's_." 

"What?" Terrence looked at his little brother in confusion. "What for?" 

Mac heaved a sigh. Sometimes he couldn't tell if Terrence was really that thick or if he simply didn't pay attention. "Just...to hang out," he summarized. 

Terrence smirked. "With you?" He ducked down the hallway to throw his backpack into his room. "Sorry, runt," he went on as he reentered the living room. "I got my own agenda." 

"Oh." Mac tried not to look disappointed. "Okay." He was hoping he could get Terrence and Bloo together, and start working on making them get along. Maybe, if he was lucky, Bloo could be home by Christmas. But it looked like he wasn't going to get a chance to start until Terrence's grounding was over - at the end of Summer. Maybe he could try again then. 

"Well, see ya, Killer," Terrence threw over his shoulder as he left the apartment and headed for the mall. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

When he strutted into the auditorium later that afternoon, Terrence basked in the envious glances he was getting from the other students. As he had expected, they had all been forced to wear "dressy" clothes by their parents. Terrence was the only one in street clothes, although they were brand-new: dark blue baggy jeans (complete with wallet chain), a black logo t-shirt over a grey longsleeve, and new sneakers (he'd found some on sale, luckily). He couldn't resist a necklace made of nuts and bolts he found at Hot Topic and bought that too. And figuring he was moving up in the world (i.e., going to high school), he had gone for a haircut, axing the mullet. Chess expressed his approval - he always did like to see kids stand out in a crowd. 

Right before the students filed to their seats on the stage and the lights went down, Terrence peeked out into the audience to ease his mind. No Mom. He didn't like hiding things from her any more than Mac did, but to be fair he was much more used to it. And in this case, he was very glad he hadn't told her anything. He didn't think he'd be able to play if he knew she was there. 

Naturally, with only two pieces, the concert was very short - roughly forty-five minutes if you included Chess's introductions of each and every student at the end. Terrence got a little extra applause but he figured everyone was just being polite since he had had a solo. 

As soon as everyone was off the stage and Terrence had put the cello away, he grabbed the bag containing his old clothes and headed for the door as the student's families started filtering backstage. Chess intercepted him. 

"Family couldn't make it, huh?" 

"Um...nah." 

"Too bad...too bad. You looked mighty sharp up there. Sounded okay too." 

"Thanks." 

Chess got a serious look. "Listen, Terrence," he began, "don't run off just yet. There's something I'd like to - " 

"_Terrence Spencer Vaughn_." 

The voice made Terrence's heart drop into his stomach. Striding towards him, with Mac in tow, was Mom. Her expression was entirely unreadable; she either wanted to hug him, or she wanted to stab him in the eye with an icepick. Either would be embarrassing. 

Mac, on the other hand, was grinning broadly. 

"Terrence," intoned Mom, stopping in front of her son, not even seeming to see Chess. "What on _Earth_." That said, she released Mac's wrist and folded her arms, waiting expectantly for an explanation. 

Seeing that the boy seemed to need rescuing, Chess stepped around Mom so she would notice him. "Ms. Vaughn?" he asked her. 

"Wh - Yes," she glanced at him. 

"I'm Seymour Chesline, Terrence's teacher." He held out a hand and Mom shook it automatically while shooting Terrence a look that indicated she still wanted that explanation. "Nice to meet you," she monotoned. 

"I hope you enjoyed the program," Chess went on warmly. 

"Oh...yes." Mom kept gazing at Terrence, who stared back at her the way a possum might regard an oncoming Mack truck. 

"I know you must be very proud of Terrence, he worked extremely hard." 

Mom stared at Terrence. She opened her mouth to say something to him but Mac suddenly popped up between them. 

"OhmygoshTerrencethatwassoawesome!" he squealed, unable to contain himself any longer. "I mean, that was one of the coolest things I've ever seen! You're so good! I don't believe it! Hey! I like your hair! Are those new clothes?" 

Terrence blinked down at him. "Um," he said intelligently. 

"Who's this?" Chess prompted kindly. 

"Huh?" Terrence looked at the teacher. "Oh. This is my brother Mac." 

"Good to know you," said Chess, shaking Mac's hand. "Couldn't your other brother make it?" 

"There's only the two of us," replied Mac in confusion. 

Chess raised an eyebrow; he pointed at Mac and gave Terrence a questioning look. Terrence nodded. Chess looked back at down at the eight-year-old. "Get back," he said. "You give your brother that bruise?" 

"Oh, uh...yeah. It was kind of an accident." 

"It always is." Chess grinned. "Ms. Vaughn," he turned his attention back to Mom, "I'm glad you could make it. I'd like to talk to you." 

Mom, resigned that she wasn't going to get an explanation right away, decided to take whatever information she could get. "Okay," she said. 

"Now, as you know, Terrence has a real aptitude for music," Chess began, and Mom threw a brief accusing look at her son, who shuffled his feet nervously. "I was hoping that you both might consider his attending Tillman next year." 

"What?" said Mom, Terrence, and Mac in unison. 

Chess pulled a brochure from his vest. "Entrance to the Tillman music program is by audition," he explained, handing the brochure to Mom. "Criteria isn't as strict as many think; although Terrence has only been playing for six weeks, I do believe he could get in with a solid audition. What you need to know about the audition piece is in there - type, length, time and place." He gestured at the brochure. "He'd have three weeks to put something together, it's short notice but I think he could do it, and I'll be here on Saturdays if he wants to come in for help. You'll need to rent a cello." Chess produced a business card from a pocket and handed it over. "I recommend these folks, plus my initials on the back of the card there will get you a discount." 

Mom juggled the brochure and the card dazedly. "Thank you," she said. "We'll...look into it." 

Chess smiled. "Well, I have to greet the other families." He touched Terrence on the shoulder. "Bravo, Spencer," he said with a wink, and walked away. 

Mom and Mac turned to Terrence expectantly. 

"Well?" prompted Mom. She sounded faintly amused. 

But Terrence wanted _quid pro quo_. "How did you _know?_" he demanded. 

Mom sighed. "I'm always telling you boys to empty your pockets before you put your jeans in the wash." She fished a folded, crumpled sheet of yellow paper from her purse and held it up. It was the announcement for the concert he was supposed to give her weeks ago. If he had gotten it weeks ago, how could it have been in his jeans pocket today? Terrence was mystified, but chalked it up to somehow being yet another stupid thing he was guilty of doing. "We got here late, but it was better than not at all, though I wish I'd had my camera. Now spill it," Mom prompted him, stuffing the flyer, brochure, and card into her purse. 

Terrence heaved a massive sigh. "I'm _sorry_," he said. "I needed extra credit. I just...didn't want to bother you with it." 

Mom shook her head. "Honey, Tweedledee exercises better logic than you do sometimes," she said bluntly, making Mac chuckle. "So those two hours at the 'Library' after school every day..?" 

"Class and practice," mumbled Terrence in reply, dropping his gaze. 

Mom shook her head again; then she threw her arms around her son. "Honey, you were _wonderful_ up there," she broke down at last 

"You were _awesome_, Terrence," Mac agreed. 

"I...messed up on some of the follow-throughs," Terrence said lamely. Mom laughed and held him at arm's length. "Baby, it was perfect," she assured him. 

Terrence hooked his thumbs in his pockets and slouched a little. "So...are you gonna kill me or not?" he asked the burning question. 

"Let me sleep on it." 

As they walked out to the car, Mom asked Terrence if he wanted to try the audition. 

"I dunno," said Terrence noncommittally. "It's kind of a geek school, you know." 

Mom rolled her eyes. "Don't generalize," she chastised him. "Do you _like_ playing music?" 

Terrence shrugged as if he didn't care, but his voice betrayed him in the barely-noticeable enthusiasm contained in his quick reply of "Yeah." 

"Then there's no harm in giving it a try." 

"But Mom," said Terrence, opening the passenger-side car door after she had unlocked it, "there's only three weeks. I know I'm grounded, but even _I_ have better things to do all day than practice some boring suite over and over." 

"Come on, Terrence," piped up Mac, opening the rear passenger-side door. "You can do it no problem." 

"Yeah? How do _you_ know?" 

"Because," said Mac seriously, looking up at his big brother innocently, "there's always room for cello." 

_End Part I_


	7. Part II: Chapter One

**_Part II_**  
_Chapter One_

Mixson's Music was a sprawling shop that seemed to carry everything. Although it was connected to the mall, Terrence had only been there once, and that was to pick up a replacement cable for his electric guitar, as the one it had come with was worn and Mom had feared it might cause a short. During that single visit Terrence hadn't done much other than go in, find the cable, and leave. 

Now he looked around as he, Mom, and Mac entered. It really was a big place; the walls were covered with guitars and saxophones and violins and instruments from around the world Terrence couldn't even identify. On display were drum sets and keyboards and racks of books and cds and sheet music, and in between it all were more instruments and accessories. 

Mom touched Terrence on the shoulder. "Why don't you boys look around while I speak to someone about rentals?" she suggested, and both of her children nodded. As she walked off, Mac headed towards an upright piano and climbed onto the bench. Rolling his eyes when Mac began happily pounding out random notes, Terrence gravitated towards the electric guitars. He was boredly meandering his way between the guitars on their upright stands when he saw It, and he stood, gaping in shock. 

An electric cello. They _made_ electric cellos? 

Terrence walked up to it slowly, reverently. Red and gleaming, it stood poised in its acrylic case as if it were the monarch of all the lowly guitars surrounding it, too regal to bear being exposed to dust, curious fingers, or even the same air breathed by common humans. A small, polite-looking sign on the case declared: _Please Do Not Touch. Ask For Assistance._

A freaking electric cello. There _was_ a God. 

"That's the _old_ model," a female voice suddenly spoke up beside Terrence's ear, and he jumped about a foot. The female voice was joined by a male one in amused laughter, and he turned around to come face-to face with a girl about his own age with a brightly colored crested bird - an imaginary friend - on her shoulder. The girl wore an immaculate green plaid jumper over a white blouse, with white stockings and black patent leather shoes. A green plaid headband atop her fastidiously groomed shoulder-length blonde hair completed the ensemble, and she clutched a blue folder in one hand. The bird was about the size of a large cockatoo and was feathered in all the colors of the rainbow. The girl and the bird stopped laughing at the same time to eye Terrence critically. 

"I, of course, have the newest model," the girl went on evenly, her green eyes locked on Terrence's brown ones. "Mine's white." She stared him down for a few more seconds, and he shrunk back a bit. She was creepy, and so was the bird. 

"Um...oh," he managed at last. He began edging away, but the girl stepped towards him. "You don't _play_, do you?" she asked, mocking amusement showing on her face while the bird grinned, as only an imaginary bird can. 

"_Do_ you?" echoed the bird in the same condescending tone. 

"Sure he does." Mac, who had overheard, stepped up to the trio. "Well, I mean," he amended, "he plays the cello. Not like that one," he gestured at the acrylic case, "the regular kind." He smiled at the girl, assuming that anyone her age who still had her imaginary friend would be nice to meet. "You go to Tillman!" he exclaimed suddenly before Terrence could tell him to get lost, pointing at the blue folder in the girl's hand - it bore the Tillman logo. "My brother is going to audition!" 

"Mac!" hissed Terrence. "Shut up! Go away!" 

The girl raised an eyebrow and the bird mimicked her expression. "Oh really?" she commented, looking from Mac back to Terrence with feigned indifference. "Ninth grade?" 

Terrence figured he'd better say something. So he said, "Yeah, so?" in a very snappy way, because the girl and her creepy bird were starting to really get on his nerves. 

"_I'm_ going into the ninth grade," the girl went on snippily, putting her free hand on her hip. "_I'm_ going to get top ninth chair. I've _always_ had the highest chair for my year. I've been playing the cello since I was five. I've trained in Paris. _I_ was invited to audition in the seventh grade by Charles Tillman himself." 

Mac, who had quickly decided he didn't like this girl after all, blurted, "Well Terrence has only been playing for _six weeks_ and he was invited to audition by Mister Chesline!" 

"Shut up!" cried Terrence, too late, backhanding Mac across the head. 

The girl and the bird blinked at the brothers for a moment, glanced at each other, and then erupted into a violent fit of laughter. 

"Ow!" complained Mac, rubbing his head. "What'd you do _that_ for?" 

"You're making me look stupid!" Terrence growled at him, grabbing Mac by the arm to haul him away before things got any worse. 

But it was about as bad as it was going to get already. "Look stupid!" repeated the bird gleefully, bobbing his head, his crest erect. "Stupid stupid stupid!" 

At that Terrence dropped Mac's arm and charged up to the girl. "Hey, shut up, bird!" he snarled at the imaginary friend, jabbing him in the beak with one finger and waving his other hand, clenched into a fist, over his own head. "Unless you want to wind up as imaginary stew!" 

"Ew." The girl took a step back, swatting Terrence's hand away as though it were infectious. "Don't touch Adagio, you caveman, you'll give him parasites." 

"Parasites," repeated Adagio smugly. 

"Hey!" shouted Mac defensively. "Terrence doesn't have parasites!" 

"He has _you_," retorted the girl. 

"The only one I see here with parasites is _you_, Fae," said another girl, wandering up. Terrence and Mac stopped glaring at the first girl and her imaginary friend long enough to blink at the newcomer in surprise. This second girl looked remarkably like the first girl, only she wore a t-shirt and ripped-up jeans and paint-spattered sneakers, and her chin-length hair was dyed a brilliant magenta. When she spoke, her voice was deeply slurred, as she seemed to have a speech impediment. "You really ought to do something about that outbreak on your shoulder," the magenta-haired girl went on, pointing at Adagio. "I think his ugly is spreading to your face." 

Terrence and Mac snorted. 

Fae scowled darkly. "Shut up, Reese!" she snapped as Adagio clicked his beak angrily. "Nobody asked you!" 

"Nobody asked you!" repeated the bird. 

"Come along, Adagio," huffed Fae, turning on her heel. "Let's go see if Mama is finished speaking to Mister Mixson yet." She put emphasis on the second syllable of "Mama," using what sounded like a French accent. 

"Finished speaking," repeated Adagio, then he stuck out his tongue at Mac, who stuck his own tongue out right back. Fae flounced off, Reese watching her go. 

"Is that your sister?" Mac, done with his razzing, stepped up behind the girl. When she didn't respond he arced an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "Um...Reese?" he said, waving a hand to get her attention. "Hello?" 

Terrence frowned and stepped in front of Reese. "Hey, my brother's talking to you," he said, a tad offended by the girl's manners. Reese looked round at Mac then. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't see you back there. I'm deaf," she went on before anyone could ask if she had at least heard him. "I read lips though. I have to see you talk." 

"Really?" asked Mac, interested. It explained the way she slurred her words. "Hey, that's cool! Um...reading lips, I mean." 

Terrence walked around Reese to stand beside Mac. "I thought people only did that in spy movies," he remarked dubiously. 

"They do," replied Reese earnestly, widening her eyes in mock sincerity. "I'm the only person in the world who can actually do it for real." Mac grinned at the joke but at Terrence's expression of awed disbelief the girl burst out laughing, exposing a set of braces with multicolored bands. "I'm _kidding_, silly," she told the older boy, who reddened a little at his mistake. "Cool necklace," she said suddenly, jabbing a finger at Terrence's nut-and-bolt necklace. 

"Oh," he said, and fished for a return compliment. "Rad hair." 

"Thanks." 

"Hey, cool shirt!" Terrence blurted, noticing Reese's WWWF t-shirt for the first time. 

"Thanks. I got it when Professor Panic was in town last year." 

Terrence's eyes bugged. "Awesome!" he cried. "I _so_ wanted to see that but I was grounded." 

Reese shrugged at him. "Well there's that wrestling mini-con down at the other end of the mall all weekend. I was headed over there. Wanna come?" 

Terrence brightened but then his face fell. "Aw, I can't," he pouted. "I'm, er...grounded." 

But Reese laughed. "Someone's an overachiever," she remarked. 

Mac glanced back and forth between the two teens. This was kind of cute. Getting an idea, he slipped away unnoticed. 

"So," said Terrence, changing the subject. He nodded over at Fae and Adagio, who were lingering boredly at the front counter. "You know Fartface and the Bird Wonder?" 

"Ugh." Reese shrugged. "My twin sister and her stupid imaginary friend." 

"Woah. You guys are twins? I feel for ya. Yeah, imaginary friends are stupid," replied Terrence, rolling his eyes. 

Reese rolled her eyes right back. "Yeah," she said. "Fae's being extra annoying this week because Mama - " (she also pronounced this with a French accent) - "is buying her some expensive new cello from Germany or someplace. We're supposed to pick it up today. Oh - there it is." 

Terrence looked. Fae had been joined at the counter by a well-dressed lady and a man in shirtsleeves (this was Mr. Mixson). Fae was admiring a gorgeous cello stained and finished a deep midnight blue. Terrence's jaw dropped. "_Woah!_" he gasped, hurrying over despite his dislike of Fae. "That is _wicked awesome!_" 

"It is indeed, son," smiled Mr. Mixson proudly. "Special order, just got her in from Germany. Would you like to see - " 

"No touching," snapped the lady in a heavy French accent, physically yanking Terrence away from the cello when he reached out to feel its glassy surface. "Very, very expensive," she went on, waggling a finger in the boy's face as if he were a naughty Pomeranian caught in the act of befouling the carpet. 

Fae pulled the cello towards herself and both she and Adagio gave Terrence the dirtiest of looks. "Thank you, Mama," she simpered. "That boy almost _soiled_ your present." 

Terrence opened his mouth to say something unrepeatable to her when Mom suddenly walked out of the back room, carrying what was obviously a well-used, quite ordinary cello. Mac was with her. "Terrence, good news," she smiled at him. "Mrs. Mixson gave me quite a deal on the rental. They offered me an extra ten percent off of the ordinary student rates because it's your first audition. Wasn't that nice?" 

Fae and Adagio laughed loudly, the twins' mother made a face as if Terrence reeked of garbage, and Terrence gaped at his mother in mortification. "Mooo-ooomm!" he whined. 

"What? What's the matter?" asked Mom innocently. 

"Is...your..._child_ auditioning for Tillman?" the twins' mother asked Mom slowly. 

"Yes," beamed Mom proudly. "His summer school teacher said he had potential." 

Terrence covered his face with both hands and prayed the oceans would engulf the Earth at that moment. Reese, hovering at his left elbow, sighed. 

"Summer school," repeated the girls' mother dryly. "How...nice." 

"I'm Janet," Mom went on cheerfully. "Janet Vaughn. There are my sons, Terrence and Mac." 

"Madame Gwenaela Violette Bourdoumine d'Etienne, of the Paris d'Etiennes," replied the woman icily. "My daughters Fae and Cerise. They both go to Tillman of course," Madame d'Etienne added before Mom could say hello to them. "Fae has been first chair cellist in her class for two years, and Cerise has taken first place in _nearly_ - " here she shot Reese a brief look of disapproval - "every art show she has entered at Tillman." 

"D'Etienne," said Mom thoughtfully. "... Reynaud d'Etienne?" she queried. 

Madame d'Etienne raised a thin eyebrow. "Is my husband," she supplied. 

"Yes," nodded Mom. "Yes he is one of our clients." She smiled. "I work at World Title Insurance." 

"How lovely," Madame d'Etienne replied tonelessly. She turned to Fae. "Come along, Fae, it is time to go home." She and Fae sauntered off. 

Mom snorted lightly. "Goodbye," she said sarcastically. She looked at Reese, who grinned at her. "Well it's nice to meet _you_," she said. 

Reese waved. "Hi," she said. 

Mom held the cello out. "So," she said to Terrence, "what do you think." 

"Its great, Mom," her son replied without enthusiasm. 

"Great," Mom mouthed to Mr. Mixson, who smiled and took the cello from her. "Guess we'll take it. And Terrence," she went on, digging in her purse, "how about Mac and I take this home for you and you just walk back when you feel like it?" 

Terrence stared at her. "But," he replied. "I thought - " 

"Oh Terrence, you worked like a dog for six weeks, I don't think one more day off restriction will turn you into a juvenile delinquent." 

"Oh." Terrence looked over at Reese, who smiled brightly at him. "O...kay. Thanks Mom." The two teens turned to leave the music store. 

"Hey Terrence," said Mac, following them to the door. "Have fun with your _girl_friend." Reese started laughing and Terrence got a horrified look. 

"She's not my girlfriend, shut up!" he snapped, and Mac ran back to Mom giggling. 

Great, thought Terrence as he and Reese walked out of the store. Mac talked Mom into letting him off his restriction for the day so he could lord it over the older boy all summer. Probably was going to wait to trade it for a big favor later. This could be bad. 

"Come on," said Reese, grabbing the boy's elbow and derailing his train of thought. "Mistress Zaida is signing people's faces! We don't want to get there after her pen runs out of ink!" 

This took precedence over Mac's little plot, and Terrence let himself be dragged deeper into the mall. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Terrence had never hung out with a girl before. It wasn't what he had expected. Shortly after leaving the music store he and Reese got into a lengthy, in-depth discussion about pro wrestling, during which he found himself thoroughly occupied with, one: sounding knowledgeable, two: trying to understand some of Reese's slurred speech, and three: remembering to face her when he talked. Convinced he was failing at all three points he started roughhousing with her the way he might with one of his ex-"friends" to cover up his embarrassment - shoving her against a garbage can and trying to trip her several times. A lot of people, more so girls, would take offense at this but Reese retaliated nicely, pushing Terrence into a potted plant and against a rack of bras just inside the Victoria's Secret outlet. They ended up chasing each other around the fountain and getting reprimanded by a security guard, after which they slunk away, trying - and failing - to look remorseful. 

When they reached the mini-con they poured over the memorabilia and enthused over collectibles until they got enough suspicious looks from vendors to drive them off a few yards. 

"I'm sorry," Terrence said. "I get that a lot. People always think I'm gonna steal." 

"No, its me," argued Reese. "I have Oh-My-God-Crazy-Hair therefore I will rob everyone blind! Hey!" she changed the subject. "Let's get our faces signed!" 

But as it turned out Mistress Zaida hadn't even shown up and so the teens eventually gravitated away from the convention and into a computer store. 

"These are the best games," Reese said, picking up a roller coaster park sim. "You can strap a guest with a weak stomach on a wild coaster and watch him powerpuke like a million times." 

"Gross," was Terrence's reply, although he examined the back of the box. "I'm no good at strategy games though. I like this one," he offered, picking up _Chainsaw Nightmare_. "I showed it to my mom but somehow I doubt I'm gonna get it for my birthday." 

"When's your birthday?" asked Reese distractedly. 

"In a few weeks." 

"Really?" Reese looked around. "Oh my god this is the best game ever," she said suddenly, grabbing up a box. "I got it years ago but I still play it." 

Terrence looked. "Alice in Wonderland?" he scoffed. "What, you try to rack up points having tea parties and dancing with rabbits?" 

"No." Reese held out the box. "It's _American McGee's Alice_. You run around chopping people up with a knife, or exploding their heads with croquet balls, and blowing stuff up with bombs." 

"No way." Terrence took the box and looked at the back. "Cool. It looks creepy. My mom would never let me have this." 

Reese grabbed the box back. "Then I'll buy it for your birthday. Don't show her." 

"Hey, no way!" Terrence argued, making a failed grab for the box. "You can't buy me a present! I just met you, that'd be weird." 

"Ha, too late, I'm in line," grinned the girl, stepping towards the cashier. "Oh come on, it's been out for years, its not expensive." She paid in cash while Terrence scowled at her. "Happy birthday," she said brightly, shoving the bagged game at him and shooing him out of the store. 

"Wasn't that game rated Mature?" Terrence asked as soon as they were outside. "They shouldn't have even sold it to you." 

"I know that cashier," replied Reese flippantly. She pointed at the food court. "Do you want to eat?" 

Over tacos, Terrence asked Reese how come her parents let her dye her hair weird colors. 

Reese shrugged. "I can express myself any way I want," she said. "I'm supposed to be a great artist some day. It's when I _don't_ express myself that I get in trouble." 

"What if you don't _want_ to be a great artist?" 

"'Want'?" repeated the girl sarcastically. "What's that?" She poked at a pile of shredded lettuce on her tray. "I'm a painter," she said. "Fae's a cellist. That's what we _are_." 

Terrence wasn't exactly thrilled. "Your parents sound like real hardasses," he commented. "My mom's never put any pressure on me to do anything other than quit getting sent to the Principal's office." 

"What about your dad?" 

"He's in New York," replied the boy with a shrug. "He sends money. I think maybe Mom talks to him on the phone sometimes but he never talks to us or writes us or even sends cards. Only money. I haven't seen him since I was seven. I think Mom said he remarried. I'm not sure. She doesn't talk about him and we don't ask." 

"That's kind of sad," said Reese. "But maybe you're better off. Maybe he's a major jerk." 

"Yeah..." 

"So are you grounded all summer?" 

Terrence looked up from his Coke. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I mean, except maybe on my birthday." 

"You having a party?" 

Terrence hesitated, unwilling to admit that you have to have friends to have a party. "Uh...prolly not," he replied at length. 

Reese swung her legs. "You wanna go to the movies?" she asked. 

Terrence thought about it. "Um...well, if I can...yeah," he said. 

Reese grabbed Terrence's left wrist and dragged his hand towards her. She pulled a pen from her pocket. "This first number," she said as she wrote on his palm, "is the relay service. The second one is my number. Call the relay service and give them my number." 

Terrence itched to ask what a relay service was but he didn't want to look stupid. "Okay," he said. 

"I gotta go home," said Reese, releasing Terrence's wrist and tucking the pen away. "Call me." 


	8. Part II: Chapter Two

**_Part II_**  
_Chapter Two_

"So. How was your date?" 

Terrence lifted his face from the bathroom sink and glared myopically over his shoulder at Mac, who stood grinning in the doorway behind him. "It wasn't a date, you little dork," the older boy snapped, reaching for a towel to dry his face. 

Mac pulled a tube off of the counter and read the label. His grin got wider. "Then why are you finally using that acne wash Mom got you a million years ago?" he taunted, and jumped out of the way when Terrence made a swipe at him. "You _like_ that girl," the younger boy went on, dodging a couple more grabs. "She _is_ your girlfriend!" 

Terrence paused in his attack long enough to put his glasses back on; then he threw the towel, hitting Mac in the face with it. Mac dropped the tube and Terrence snatched it up. 

"If you ever," snarled Terrence as Mac lifted the towel off of his face, jamming the cap of the tube against Mac's nose, "call her my girlfriend again, I will personally force feed you this entire tube! Got it?" 

"Sure Terrence." Mac pulled the wooden stepstool into position in front of the sink so he could brush his teeth. He was taking a major risk, but somehow he felt he needed to really test the waters. He watched Terrence carefully in the mirror, waiting for him to make a move to punish him for his insubordination. He squirted toothpaste on his brush and started brushing. 

Terrence hesitated. Something nagged at the thirteen-year-old, telling him to slam Mac's face into the faucet and ram his toothbrush down his throat, but the teen had more important things to do. Tossing the tube of cleanser back onto the counter he slunk out of the bathroom. He didn't see Mac's relieved smile. 

Terrence shut himself into his room and parked himself in front of his computer. He needed to find a piece to play for the audition, and fast. Three weeks was a respectable chunk of time, but he didn't want to wind up rushed. After all, this was his summer vacation, and he fully intended to get some relaxation out of it. 

The Tillman brochure had listed some websites where music could be printed for free, and Mom had suggested he go that route. But Terrence wasn't so keen on it. That's what everyone would be doing, and he didn't exactly want to be the fifteenth kid in a row to play "The Girl From Ipanema" for the judges. How lame would that be? His own brilliant idea was to figure out how to play some Green Day or Killers on a cello but the problem with that was he had to show sheet music for it. And he didn't think guitar sheet music would cut it. 

In the end he just wound up installing _Alice_ and slicing up Card Guards with the Vorpal Blade for a couple of hours. It took his mind off of music auditions nicely. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"So have you picked a piece for your audition yet?" 

Terrence had been expecting this question for a week, but he still wasn't prepared to deal with it. "Still narrowing it down," he lied into his milk, not looking at his mother. 

Mom opened her mouth to remind Terrence that he only had two weeks to go before the audition but she stopped herself and went back to eating her peas in silence. She didn't want to put pressure on the boy, but she was worried. Miraculously, remarkably, her oldest son had finally shown an aptitude for something and it took all of her willpower to keep from riding him every minute to make sure he took advantage of this wonderful opportunity he had been afforded. She knew what a procrastinator he could be and it would be beyond a crying shame if this audition fell through just because he didn't apply himself. 

Mac felt much the same way, but he was currently thinking more of how Terrence tended to lash out when goaded. So he changed the subject. "What do you want for your birthday?" he asked. 

Terrence, who was slumped over his plate, shrugged and pushed peas into clumps beside his pork chop. "I dunno." 

"Is there something special you'd like to do?" Mom added. 

Mac mouthed "I dunno" to Mom, as that's what they both fully expected the other boy to say, but instead the teen paused. "Will I be grounded?" Terrence asked, looking up at his mother curiously. 

"On your birthday? Of course not." 

A raised eyebrow. "Can I go out?" 

Mom looked at him. "By yourself?" she asked softly. 

Terrence shrugged and didn't reply. 

"Well." Mom thought about it. "If you want to...But I'd like you to have dinner with your loving family at least." 

At that comment Mac batted his eyes at Terrence, who made a face at him. "Okay," Terrence told Mom. 

"With cake." 

"Fine." 

"And candles." 

"Okay..." 

"And balloons." 

Terrence looked at her. 

"And we get to sing." 

Terrence rolled his eyes. "Don't forget the cowboys and pony rides," he remarked sarcastically. 

Mom widened her eyes at him. "That reminds me; I forgot to book the clown that makes the balloon animals," she said. 

"And the trampoline!" added Mac. 

"And the face painter," nodded Mom. 

Terrence grunted and poked at his porkchop with his fork. "Well, I've decided what I want for my birthday," he said. 

Mom and Mac stopped giggling at each other long enough to look at him. "What's that?" Mom asked. 

"A restraining order against my crazy family," replied the teen. "How many colors _that_ come in?" 

Mom and Mac giggled harder. 


	9. Part II: Chapter Three

**_Part II_**  
_Chapter Three_

After dinner Terrence carried the cordless phone into his room, shut the door, and called the relay service. He knew now (from doing a Google search) what it was: a service that provides communication assistance to the deaf, hard-of-hearing, and speech-impaired. Terrence had never thought about how a deaf person could use a telephone before, and now he knew. Upon reaching the automated response he selected the option to hear a recorded message explaining how to use the service. And then, thus armed with this knowledge, he punched in Reese's home number. 

"Ringing," said the voice of a female operator. Almost a minute of silence later, Terrence was still wondering if he was supposed to acknowledge that when the operator said, "Hello?" 

The operator was reading what Reese had entered into her teletypewriter when she answered the call. Terrence knew that but it was still weird, and he tried to act like he was talking to Reese. "Um, Reese?" he said. "Go ahead," he added quickly, remembering that he was supposed to. 

"Yeah?" was the reply. 

"It's Terrence. Go ahead." 

"Oh," said the operator, and Terrence attempted to mentally project some enthusiasm into the operator's expressionless, pleasant voice. "Do you like the game?" 

"Yeah, its great," said Terrence, not so sure he wanted to tell a some random operator how much he enjoyed thwacking the Insane Children with the Croquet Mallet. "Hey, uh, I'm off restriction on my birthday. Do...you..." here he felt a little stupid, "still want to see a movie or something? Um, go ahead." 

A pause. "Come over here," replied the operator smoothly. 

Terrence frowned. "What?" he said, and hurriedly added a "go ahead." 

"Come to my house. Bring a swimsuit and some clothes you don't mind messing up. Come before lunch and we'll feed you." 

Terrence blinked. It was one thing to be invited to the movies by a girl, that was neutral ground but...to her house? He hadn't been invited to someone's house in a long time, and never by a girl. "Oh...uh..." he blathered into the phone. "What...time?" he managed at last. "Go ahead." 

"Come at ten. What day?" 

Terrence told her the date, and Reese gave him the address. It was very near Tillman. 

"Maybe if you're lucky you'll get to meet Papa," the operator said, startling Terrence. Was he ready to meet a girl's father? Even if she wasn't his girlfriend it still seemed like a dangerous proposition. He was good at fooling grownups into thinking he was well-mannered but the ruse never worked when said grown-ups' kids had already told them all about how he really was. 

"Okay I'll see you then," said the operator, and Terrence tried to come back to reality. 

"Yeah bye. Um, signing off," he added, as per the relay instructions, feeling a bit like he was directing aircraft. He hung up. 

He was going to hang out with a girl on his birthday. And go swimming with her. And maybe meet her dad. Even more than two weeks away, it seemed too soon, and he was nervous already. Great. On top of worrying about his audition he was now nervous about something else entirely. What a dope he was. Now he was going to be worried about that while he was supposed to be looking for a piece to play. Surly at himself, he booted up _Alice_. And when the title screen came up, he realized something. 

_Alice_ had kickass music. 

Terrence found the game manual but there was no information on the music in there so he hopped on the Internet and Googled it. Turned out that a guy who used to be in Nine Inch Nails wrote the score. 

Awesome. Terrence was willing to bet anything that no one else at the audition was going to play anything by Chris Vrenna. 

He did some more Googling and turned up nothing regarding sheet music. He had to have sheet music to turn in. He scowled, crushed. There went that idea. 

But then he thought about it. Who said he had to use professionally made sheet music? Why not jot out his own? If he could work out the notes by ear, what difference did it make? 

He downloaded a sheet music template and fired up the printer. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Mom held the sheet music carefully, gazing down upon the papers as if they were priceless treasures. They were. Her son had made them. _Selections From American McGee's Alice, composed by C. Vrenna_, Terrence had printed carefully across the top of the first page. 

"And this is from a video game?" Mom asked wonderingly, glancing up at Terrence, who was bringing in a chair from the kitchen. 

"Yeah," was the reply. Terrence took the bow and cello from the case and set the bow on the chair while he extended the endpin. "I didn't want to be boring." 

Mac was already sitting on the couch; he kicked his legs impatiently. "Come on, Mom," he said as Terrence sat on the chair. He hadn't been able to hear much of the practicing as Terrence did most of that while the younger boy was away at Foster's - ditto for Mom, who worked all day. 

Mom lingered in the kitchen, fingering the sheet music a moment more, before slipping the papers into their folder on the table and joining Mac on the couch. Terrence had the piece memorized and didn't need to read the music; at this point, the sheets were more to appease the judges this afternoon than anything else. 

Mac bounced eagerly. "Come on," he prodded Terrence, who was fastidiously searching for just the right place to balance the cello. 

"Hang on to your pacifier," Terrence muttered back distractedly, tugging at his collar. The Tillman brochure had specified respectable attire for the auditions and therefore the boy had been roped into the dreaded slacks-and-dress-shirt-and-tie ensemble. He'd put his foot down and talked Mom into swapping the sweater vest and bowtie for a regular tie, but the collar was still tight and the shoes still pinched. He'd have to live with it. At last satisfied with his position, he began to play. 

It had been difficult to write down music from a video game, even using the pause button. He had wanted to included samples from more than one of the compositions and so he had had to powergame his way through _Alice_, using the God mode and playing on the easiest setting so he could reach as many areas of the game as possible. Google told him there had been a soundtrack cd released but it was now out of print and it wasn't likely he would have been able to get hold of a copy in a timely manner regardless; which was too bad because that would have certainly been easier. Amazon had downloadable samples of the tracks and that had helped, anyways. Terrence wound up putting together a mishmash mostly from "Village of the Doomed" and "Wonderland Woods" - the latter already featured a cello solo, which he borrowed, but for the former he had to be a bit more creative. Still, he thought it sounded all right. 

The piece was only about two minutes long, as specified in the brochure, and when Terrence drew to a close he was greeted with a moment of silence from his audience. He was just starting to panic when they suddenly applauded. 

"Woah, that was creepy," was Mac's comment as Terrence heaved a massive sigh of relief that they hadn't hated it. 

"Yes...isn't it a little _dark_, dear?" Mom asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. "What game is this again?" 

Terrence jumped up and hastily put the cello and bow back into the case, snapping it shut and fumbling with the latches. "Oh...some old game," he said hastily. "Can we go? I wanna get there early." 


	10. Part II: Chapter Four

**_Part II_**  
_Chapter Four_

As this was a private audition, Mom only dropped Terrence off at Tillman, telling him she'd be back at four (Mac of course had left for Foster's, blurting out something about going to the park). Terrence, remembering where the music department was, found the building with no trouble, and headed for a corner of the lobby-like reception area outside the auditorium to wait his turn after giving his name to a man at a podium. He was looking for a chair when something made him look twice at a boy sitting nearby with a violin case across his knees. Recognition dawned slowly.

It was Billy Slocomb.

Terrence and Billy had been in the seventh grade together at Ferndale Middle School. Billy was small, and weak, and wore glasses, and had allergies, and was very smart. Terrence had quickly singled him out for "special treatment" and went out of his way to torture the kid on a daily basis. He didn't even commandeer the services of Nolan and the others, he just found Billy alone whenever possible and harassed the boy any way he could. Billy didn't have many friends, and he stayed after school a lot to study on the benches in the schoolyard so this was easy. Terrence got so comfortable with the arrangement that he even began to think of Billy as a Mac-away-from-home, so to speak, and he looked forward to tormenting Billy at school, coming home, and chasing Mac and Bloo to his heart's content until Mom came home. This arrangement ended abruptly three-quarters of the way into the seventh-grade school year when Billy suddenly stopped coming to school and Terrence learned his parents had transferred him to the middle school on the other side of town, where he continued to attend through eighth grade. Terrence hadn't seen him again.

Until today.

Terrence just stared at him. Billy was still small, still weak-looking, still wore glasses. His feet seemed to barely touch the floor. His mousy blondish hair added to his unremarkable appearance, and he stared down at the violin case in his lap with a detached sort of anxiousness. At once, feeling eyes on him, Billy looked up at Terrence, who stood there propping the cello case up with one hand. Billy gazed at him; he cocked his head just slightly, quizzically, and then, with a frown, said, "Terrence?"

Caught, Terrence flicked his gaze away for a second before returning it. "Billy," he replied, trying to sound casual.

"Bill," corrected the other boy quietly, and he looked pointedly at the cello case a moment. "Body?" he queried.

Completely baffled, Terrence scowled at the other teen. "Wh...what?" he asked.

Bill closed his eyes briefly, sighing softly - the same way Mac did whenever he knew Terrence didn't know what he was talking about. He looked Terrence in the eye. "Never mind, it was a joke," he said then, tapping his fingers on the violin case.

Terrence waited a moment, mentally daring Bill to remark on his new glasses, but when the other boy just dropped his gaze back to the violin case and fell mute again Terrence edged away, a bit gratefully. He hadn't wanted to talk to Bill anyways, not in this setting, and certainly not with so many witnesses. He would have to be polite, and it would be too weird.

But he had barely begun to head for another corner of the room when a familiar person stepped suddenly before him. It was Fae, and she was pushing a shiny black cello case. Adagio was not with her.

"Oh," Fae deadpanned, narrowing her green eyes and wrinkling her small nose. "You did come."

Terrence raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, so?" he blurted before his brain could tell his tongue to wait until it had thought of something witty.

Fae got a wicked look. "I hope your mother at least sprung for a delousing," she smirked. "After the obedience category the judges might give points for hygiene."

Terrence stared at the girl, frankly a little shocked at the rudeness.

"Boy, are you ever _stupid_," Fae went on, hand on hip. "No wonder you had to go to summer school, you don't even know when you're being insulted. Well, what did you bring?" she asked, changing the subject just as Terrence opened his mouth to blurt something.

"What?" he replied blankly, unable to switch his train of thought so easily.

Fae rolled her eyes. "Music?" she prompted in the most condescending tone imaginable. "What piece are you going to play for the judges?"

"Oh...uh..._Alice_."

That stumped Fae. "'_Alice_'?" she repeated. "Who's the composer?"

"Vrenna."

This was also beyond Fae's realm of expertise. "Well _I'm_ going to play something _famous_. By a _well-known_ composer." She tossed her blonde hair.

Terrence shrugged at her. "Yippee skip," he informed her shortly, and promptly walked away, trying to be as rude as possible. He heard a disgusted "Ugh!" behind him and was hopeful that he had succeeded.

Terrence wasn't called into the auditorium for more than two hours. Further practice wasn't an option but he didn't want to anyways. Instead he spent the time reading Mom's copy of _Alice in Wonderland_, which he had asked to borrow. He'd never read it before. He tried to enjoy it although it was nowhere near as interesting as the video game. He could see why Mom liked it so much, however; she had a thing for puns, and stuff that didn't make sense. Well, to each their own, he figured.

The auditorium, once he entered it, proved grandly intimidating - this was where Tillman held its concerts, and it was frankly one of the fanciest places Terrence had ever been in. After handing his sheet music to a runner he stepped out onto the stage, carrying his cello and bow, and hesitated nervously in front of the chair provided. A panel of judges sat at a long table before of the stage, dimly lit, and Terrence spotted Chess among them.

"Terrence Vaughn?" the woman at the center of the table stated more than asked.

"Yes," he said carefully, unsure of just how loud he should be speaking in this place.

The woman took the sheet music from the runner and looked at it; she turned from side to side, displaying it to the other judges. "Wasn't this piece available commercially printed?" she asked.

"Um...no ma'am."

"Did you do this yourself?"

"Yeah...er, I mean...yes. Ma'am." Terrence squirmed a bit as the judges all looked at him.

The woman picked up a pen and started writing something on the top of the paper, frankly alarming Terrence a bit. Was he getting a grade? Already? But he hadn't done anything yet!

"Terrence," said the judge, "when you submit your own arrangement of another's work, you are cheating yourself if you don't give the proper credit."

Terrence panicked inwardly. Did she just say he was cheating? His collar seemed to magically get even tighter.

Chess, who knew the boy, came to his rescue. "Don't worry, Terrence," he said, smiling. "She just means you forgot to put your own name on it. It's nothing to worry about. It looks fine. Now why don't you go ahead and play for us."

Feeling better, Terrence nodded and without further conversation he sat, arranged himself, and played the piece. In the big room it sounded a lot bigger than it had at home. When he was finished he stood up quickly.

"Thank you, Terrence," said the middle woman, smiling. They were all smiling kindly. Terrence tried to smile back, failed, and hurried off of the stage.

No sooner had he gotten backstage than his entire body seemed to revolt on him: his stomach bottomed out and his knees all but gave and his head spun. He tried his best not to fall right on his cello as he lurched to prop himself up against a wall as best he could. What the hell was he doing? Was _this_ what he had worked so hard for? To go to a school where he had to feel like he was dying on a constant basis? The post-performance stage fright was one of the worst things he had ever experienced in his life - the adrenaline rush seemed to be threatening to terrify him to death. He trembled against the wall like a frightened rabbit for several minutes, not even hearing the next cello solo being played on the stage while he prayed for mercy. While he stood there the runner returned his sheet music, which he didn't even glance at. When the second wave of nausea passed he stumbled over to where he had left the cello case and put the cello and bow away; then he hurriedly meandered his way out the back door and into the much-needed fresh air, where he flopped onto the grass.

When he was finally able to, Terrence checked his watch. It was ten minutes to four. He had to start for the parking lot. Groaning, he got back to his feet, thinking about one of his grandpa's favorite phrases to describe someone who wasn't feeling well: "green under the gills." He idly wondered if fish ever got stage fright. Somehow he doubted it.

After Mom had picked him up and driven them home, she took the sheet music and stuck it on the refrigerator door. On the top right corner of the first page was now written in pen: _Arr. by T.S. Vaughn._

_End Part II_


	11. Part III: Chapter One

**_Part III_**  
_Chapter One_

He wasn't really sure what he had expected; perhaps it was this, a mere repeat of yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Ad nauseam. But something different would have been nice. Was it too much to ask, for something a little different? 

Terrence stood before the bathroom mirror in his boxers, the steam from his shower having completely dissipated already, as he had been standing there staring at himself for about fifteen minutes. Today he was fourteen. What did that mean? He remembered the significance of several past birthdays: ten meant finally being in the double digits, eleven meant almost a teenager, twelve meant officially a teenager, thirteen meant more officially a teenager because everyone knew that twelve-year-olds who think that they're real teenagers are deluding themselves. But what was fourteen? Two more years until he could drive. Four more years before he was a legal adult. 

In a dazzling feat of adolescent logic, four years went from seeming like way too long to have to wait for anything to far too short a time to prepare for adulthood - all in the span of about .63 seconds. Terrence put his palms on the sink and leaned forward to squint at his reflection (his glasses still sat on the counter). Four years to define the rest of his life. It wasn't enough time. 

He was barely shaken out of his contemplation by a thump on the door and a voice raised in protest: "Terrence! You've been in there a year! I gotta go, already!" The locked doorknob jiggled. Terrence sighed and slumped, just a little, and slid on his glasses. And took a better look at himself. 

That stupid acne stuff Mom had bought him wasn't doing a very good job. With his shirt off he was reminded of the spots on his shoulders and - he twisted to look - his back. And he had to wear swimtrunks in front of _girl,_ like this? Worse, two girls, if Fae stuck around. And...their dad. Terrence felt a bit faint. 

_THUD THUD._ "Oh my God, Terrence!" yelled Mac in desperation. "You look stunning already! Let me in or there's gonna be a flood! Ter - " 

Terrence opened the door in mid-pound and Mac stopped hopping up and down long enough to dart around the older boy's legs, give him a shove into the hallway from behind, and slam the door. Terrence slunk into his room, shutting the door behind himself, and continued his self-scrutiny in the small square mirror mounted on the wall beside his closet. His ears were too big. His hair was too short. His nose was too small. And he was way too skinny. If he'd realized that he was berating his appearance the same way every normal teenager did he would have actually felt better, knowing that he was, in fact, a normal teenager. Because he sure as hell didn't feel normal. 

Terrence put on the jeans and t-shirt he had picked out the day before - they were clean, but not new, he didn't want to appear showy - pulled on socks and stepped into some sneakers, and grabbed up the duffel bag he had prepared. Inside were his swimtrunks, some beat-up old jeans and sneakers, and a horrid mustard-yellow t-shirt Mom had bought him earlier that year that he refused to wear. It would do for whatever clothes-destroying activities Reese had planned. Shouldering the bag, he ventured into the living room. 

Mom sat in the armchair, reading the newspaper. She looked up and smiled at him, and he automatically smiled back, though wanly. He was so glad he'd refused breakfast now; he didn't think his insides were going to settle down ever again. Mom held out her arms and Terrence walked to her, dropping the bag, and let her put her hands on his sides. 

"Well, have fun today," she told him cheerfully, glancing briefly at the duffel bag. Of course she wondered what her son's plans were but she wouldn't pry. She turned down one cuff of Terrence's t-shirt which had folded itself and smoothed it. 

Terrence, who had developed a sudden desire to be hugged, just nodded. 

"And be back by four, okay?" 

Terrence nodded again. 

Mom looked at him. "Happy Birthday," she said. 

After a quick glance to make sure Mac was still in the bathroom Terrence put his arms around Mom. "Thanks," he said into her shoulder. 

Mom caught on. She pulled Terrence down to sit on an arm of the chair and hugged him tightly. She didn't ask him if anything was wrong, or if he was okay. She planted her lips on the side of his head and kissed him with an exaggerated "Mwah!" which made the boy grin as he pulled away. 

"Bye," said Terrence, and, reshouldering the duffel bag, he left. 

Only moments after he had begun walking down the hall Mac burst out of the front door and charged after him. "Hey, wait up Terrence," called the younger boy. 

Terrence took that as a cue to keep right on walking, at a tad faster clip. He didn't reply as he banged the stairwell door and hurried down to the lobby. 

Mac, who hadn't really expected Terrence to wait up, pulled up alongside his brother. "Hey," he said, "where are you going today?" He eyed the duffel bag with more curiosity than suspicion, and his tone had been innocent enough; but Terrence, who hated being interrogated, clutched the bag closer and walked even faster. "None of _your_ business," he returned, not looking at the other. 

Mac was used to the rudeness and took no offense, especially considering that this was damn considerate of Terrence anyways. So as they reached the street he just went on: "I'm going to Foster's. We're having a picnic. Can you stop by for a little while?" 

At that Terrence came to a dead halt and glowered menacingly down at his little brother. "_What?_" 

Mac stopped too. "Do you want to come to the Foster's picnic?" he asked, still not fazed by his brother's attitude. "I told Frankie that it's your birthday and that you like coconut cream pie..." He trailed off meaningfully. 

Terrence all but gaped at him. Finally he composed himself enough to reply. "Okay, _first_ of all," Terrence began, irritated, "I only like _Grandma's_ coconut cream pie. And second...why do you keep trying to get me to go to that freakshow with you? I'm never going back there!" 

"But - " 

"Hey, I've been _in_ there," Terrence went on, making a disgusted face. "I've never seen so many weirdos in one house. And I got lost in there for hours one day when I was trying to watch your stupid Bloo for you! What kind of a sicko builds a house like that anyways?" 

At that Mac bristled. "Madame Foster is _not_ a sicko," he said evenly. "And she built that house so imaginary friends who had lost their homes could have a place to live and be happy!" 

"Who cares about stupid imaginary friends?" Terrence scoffed. "There's too many of 'em anyways. When kids stop needing 'em they should just go back into their heads or something. Or maybe just explode," he added with a sneer. "At least that would be cool." 

Mac, all intents of chumming up to his big brother gone, stood on the sidewalk seething. "You don't know _anything_ about imaginary friends!" he shouted, ignoring a couple of people walking by giving them a concerned look. "You didn't even _want_ yours, you just made him up to do something _you_ couldn't and then when he wouldn't do it, you just left him there! Good thing he was adopted by a nice little boy and won't ever have to see _you_ again!" 

Terrence, scowling, took a second or two to figure out that Mac was referring to Red, whom he hadn't given a second thought to since the teen had fled the Foster's grounds pursued by a hundred or so angry imaginary bee friends. "Red was -" he started to say, but Mac interrupted him. 

"Red was _nice!_ Not like you! _You're_ a jerk!" His hands balled into fists at his sides, Mac glared at his big brother a second more before running down the sidewalk in the direction of Foster's. 

Terrence watched him go, rather indifferently. The plain truth was he just couldn't see what the big deal was with imaginary friends anyways. Terrence was one of those many people who saw imaginary friends as useless, trivial wastes of space, mere things rather than beings with feelings, or even thoughts of their own. He had grown up around Bloo, but he had never really thought of Bloo as an individual, but rather as an extension of Mac's imagination and nothing more. Lots of people see imaginary friends this way, and while it's a little true, it isn't the _whole_ truth. But Terrence, like so many others, never felt that he was missing anything. 

Terrence shrugged to himself, shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder, and continued walking. He also headed in the direction of Foster's, as Reese's address indicated that she lived in the immediate area. But he walked fairly slowly so as to not catch up to Mac. 


	12. Part III: Chapter Two

**_Part III_**  
_Chapter Two_

After passing Foster's Terrence entered into what appeared to be a pretty upscale neighborhood; the houses were large and the yards were well-manicured. Every home was surrounded by a gated fence, much as Foster's was, and positively every yard sported an advertisement for one home security system or another. Fancy.

The house that matched Reese's address was one of the grandest on the street, and it sat on its own little hill. Terrence climbed the steps formed in concrete that led to the front gate. When he got there he was faced with a speaker that had buttons underneath it, and a sign that read: _Press 99 for deliveries_. Reese had told him to press star, so he did, after checking that he was on time (he was).

"Yes?" a male voice blurted from the speaker.

Terrence felt like he was in a movie. An insane notion screamed at him to yell "I've come for your daughter!" at the speaker but he chickened out and instead only said, "Reese invited me." He didn't want the dogs to be released on his account.

The gate clicked. "Come in, Terrence," replied the voice, and the speaker went silent. Terrence pushed open the gate and ventured onto the property, the gate swinging closed behind him.

It was the point of no return.

Terrence walked up the long winding path to the front door, taking note of the flowers and rose bushes along the way. Mom would kill for a yard like this, he thought. Years ago, when Mom and Dad were still together, they had all lived in a house, and Mom had had a rose garden. She still kept miniature rose bushes in pots on the patio but it couldn't possibly be the same thing.

A smiling man with greying brown hair met Terrence at the front door, introduced himself as Alexander (his had been the voice on the speaker outside), and ushered the boy into a parlor that vied with the one at Foster's for size, but won flat-out in decor. The d'Etiennes were, without a doubt, _very_ well-off.

Reese came skipping down the stairs, clad in an Ataris t-shirt and jean shorts. Her hair was royal purple today. "Hi, Terrence! Thanks Alexander!" she declared before seizing the boy by one wrist and hauling him back up the stairs with her.

Terrence tugged on Reese's arm so she glanced around at him. They were now ascending a second flight of stairs. "Um, where are we going?" he asked her.

Reese grinned mysteriously back at him and kept right on going. At last they burst into a huge room with giant picture windows all along two walls; they were at a corner of the house. The entire floor was covered with clear plastic tarpaulin, and the smell of turpentine hung in the air. Shelves and cupboards and rolling trolleys contained paints and brushes and jars and tins, and full-sized paint cans were stacked against one wall. A ten-foot-long, clean canvas stood on a series of easels in the middle of the room. It was Reese's personal art studio. Terrence was jealous.

"This is awesome!" he yelled, dropping his duffel bag with a thump, as Reese turned on him triumphantly. He went to a stack of canvases leaning against the remaining wall and started leafing through them. All of these paintings were abstract; Terrence wasn't much on art and his prevailing thought was that they looked like they had been fun to do. He looked up when Reese came up behind him rifling through the contents of his bag.

"Go get changed," she said, thrusting the awful yellow shirt at him. The girl certainly never skirted around an issue.

Terrence changed his clothes in the bathroom connected to the studio and he came back out to see Reese opening the last of the large cans of paint.

"What are those for?" he asked her.

"Put your glasses away," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

Terrence returned to the bathroom, put his glasses on the counter, and returned to the studio. "What are those for?" he asked her again.

Reese beamed at him. "Let's paint," she said.

"Oh...okay," Terrence said, figuring that would be cool. "Where are the brushes?"

Still beaming at him, Reese dipped her left arm into a can of bright yellow paint.

"Ah," said Terrence. When Reese ran to the canvas he shrugged and grabbed a handful of green paint with his right hand and some orange with his left. But when he got to the canvas Reese turned to him and smeared yellow paint on his face. As his own hands were full Terrence could only stand there in surprise until she was satisfied and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"The canvas not good enough for you?" he asked in confusion.

"No." She stood there making faces at him until he finally figured out what she expected. He threw the orange paint first and it spattered all over her t-shirt. Squealing, she grabbed his right arm and tried to make him get the green paint on himself; he fought her and won and spread it into her hair instead. In moments the room and its contents was subjected to gobs of multicolored paint as the kids ran around flinging it at each other.

Reese had Terrence in a half Nelson and was liberally applying bright pink paint to his hair when a large portly man with fair hair and apple-like cheeks appeared in the doorway, greatly pleased with the scene before him. Terrence had just managed to twist free a moment after the newcomer arrived and had grabbed Reese around the middle to drag her over to a can of paint so he could dunk her head in it when the man burst into laughter and he dropped the girl in surprise. She missed the paint but knocked the can over; Terrence stepped backwards, eyeing the man suspiciously, stepped in the puddle of paint, slipped and fell hard on his rear end.

The man laughed again. "So, you are Terrence?" he boomed in a hearty French accent, striding forward and seizing Terrence by one arm. He hauled the boy to his feet with as much ease as if the teen weighed mere ounces. "_Joyeux anniversaire!_" he exclaimed, slapping the boy on the back and in the same motion catching him before he could topple over from the impact. "I am so glad you could come to visit us today. "_Salut_, Cerise," he greeted his daughter, who bounded over with a "_Bonjour_, Papa." "So," Monsieur d'Etienne went on before Terrence could say anything, "we swim, then lunch, eh?" One more pound on the back and Monsieur d'Etienne walked out of the room.

Reese looked at Terrence, who was standing there a bit overwhelmed. "That was my Papa," she said needlessly. "He likes you."

"That's good," Terrence replied. "I thought he was going to use me as a punching bag."

Reese laughed. "That's just what he does when he likes someone. Let's get cleaned up and go swimming."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Terrence used the shower in the studio bathroom while Reese went to use another one elsewhere in the house. He washed as fast as humanly possible, aware that he was using a girl's shower, and all that implied. He put on his swimtrunks and clean t-shirt and allowed a maid (a maid! A real maid!) to direct him out to the back yard where he found Monsieur d'Etienne already in the pool and Reese waiting for him. Fae and Adagio were sunbathing on the deck, and were soon joined by Madame d'Etienne who didn't utter a syllable to Terrence for the duration of the day.

Terrence, Reese, and her father swam for over an hour. Monsieur d'Etienne, who insisted that Terrence call him Rey, seemed like a really nice guy. He laughed at all of Terrence's lame jokes and cheered loudly when the boy deliberately bellyflopped off of the diving board to get Fae wet. Lunch, a platter of fancy sandwiches, was pretty nice too. Afterwords Terrence and Reese went back upstairs to play with the girl's computer (which was a pretty sweet setup). At about three Terrence had to say goodbye, and after Alexander let him out, started walking back towards the apartment.

A little old lady emerged from a small upscale corner store just as Terrence was passing it; she used a cane and was having trouble balancing her single bag of groceries with her other arm. In a good mood, Terrence asked if she needed help and she accepted with a "What a nice thoughtful young man you are."

"Yes Ma'am," he simpered in response. He was good at buttering up to grown-ups; you never knew when it would pay off to be in an adult's good graces.

But when the lady led him right to the front gates of Foster's and entered the property Terrence gave up the act. "Oh, no way am I going in _there_," he blurted, thrusting the bag at the lady.

The lady, instead of becoming angry with him, just turned to him and smiled. "Why Terrence, I'm surprised at you," she said mildly. "And after Mac invited you to our picnic today - and it being your birthday and all. My granddaughter made you a coconut cream pie from scratch, you know."

Terrence stood there, holding out the bag and staring. "Wh - Wha...How did - "

"I recognized you," Madame Foster told him with a flippant wave. "You were here every day for a whole week a few months ago. It was very responsible of you to come and take care of your brother's imaginary friend for him while he was ill."

"But," said Terrence, lowering the bag at last. "I never saw _you_. Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Madame Foster. This is my house." Madame Foster grinned. "I couldn't help but notice you, you were running all over the place like a caged rat." She burst out laughing and elbowed Terrence in the shin. "That Bloo, he really yanks one's chain, doesn't he?"

So, _this_ was that loonybin reject who wasted all her time and money on imaginary friends. Terrence peered down at her. Obviously a crackpot eccentric. Being able to pass as a sweet old lady was a nice touch.

Madame Foster turned and continued down the front walk towards the house. "You can take that bag to the kitchen for me, thank you, you're a nice boy," the lady was saying casually, apparently completely expecting Terrence to follow her obediently. Instead he stood just outside the gate, hesitant. She stopped and looked back at him.

Terrence set the bag down on the sidewalk. "Keep your weird house and all those imaginary losers," he told her stubbornly. He wanted to add, "And you can keep my stupid brother too," but he decided to skip that comment and instead stalked off towards the apartment.

With a patient sigh, Madame Foster retrieved her groceries and went inside.


	13. Part III: Chapter Three

**_Part III_**  
_Chapter Three_

"You sure you've got everything, honey?" Mom hovered over Terrence as he slid a binder full of lined paper into his new backpack. 

"Mom, I'm fine," he grumped. "It's just high school. Why don't you go see if Mac needs his nose wiped or something?" He zipped the backpack and, shouldering it, headed for the front door. Mom followed him. 

"I know...I know you're fine," she said, heading him off before he could escape. He stood patiently enough while she fussed with his necklace, pulling it out of his t-shirt's collar and making sure the clasp was in the back. "I'm just so proud for you." 

"Yeah." Mom had been the most excited person in the apartment when the Tillman acceptance letter had come. 

"Now Terrence," Mom went on a bit more firmly as her son stepped around her and opened the front door. "Try to, you know...behave yourself." 

He glanced over his shoulder at her. 

"Just...could you...maybe...not get into a fight...please? On your first day?" Mom sighed heavily, greatly disliking the fact that she even had to make such a plea, but Terrence did have a history of getting into at least two major fistfights the first day of school. What she didn't realize was that these fights were necessary to Terrence's elevated position in the schoolyard pecking order - being the best at fighting had always been all he had; he knew Mom would never understand that and had stopped trying to explain it to her years ago. 

"Sure Mom," Terrence replied quickly, and escaped. 

It so happened that Mom's biggest concern was Terrence's as well, although he had different motives. If he had wound up going to the regular high school, he would have had to establish his dominance, yes, but at Tillman...at Tillman it was going to be different. If he was lucky kids going there would already know and fear him enough to give him an edge but there was a very good chance that would not be the case, and it would be like sixth grade all over again. That was when his family had moved here. 

Terrence had gotten into the biggest fight of his life on his very first day at his new elementary school and it had shaped his whole social life. Tired of the way he had always been picked on in the past Terrence had tracked down the toughest kid in school - Nolan - and had aggressively picked a fight with him at lunchtime. It had taken three teachers, the vice principal, and the janitor to break them apart, but the undisputed winner was Terrence, who wasn't half as injured as Nolan. From then on Terrence had been the ringleader of nearly all violent or disruptive/destructive incidents at the elementary school and, later, Ferndale Middle School. Mac still heard horror stories whispered in the halls of his school about his infamous brother. 

Terrence wasn't exactly happy about having to relive that kind of violence at Tillman but he was prepared to do what he had to. He refused to again go through being the loser he was before they had moved to this town. 

As he started down the sidewalk Terrence heard Mac (who was starting fourth grade today) shouting a goodbye to their mother and pounding down the stairwell. Terrence expected the little dork to start pestering him, maybe try to make him worry about going into high school but Mac just silently passed him by and turned left at the corner. They hadn't been on speaking terms since the older boy's birthday (which had otherwise been fair) and Terrence suspected the little old lady of telling Mac what a jerk he was. And all over stupid imaginary friends. Terrence still didn't get it. 

The entire walk to Tillman was spent in formulating a game plan for the day. Terrence wasn't concerned with his classes; he could care less where his locker was or where the bathrooms were or if he would get lost on his way to English. In his mind there was one objective: _make it to the top of the heap_. No matter who he had to step on to get there. Terrence, believe it or not, was rather practical when it came to matters of peer dominance: he realized that climbing the power ladder in high school would not be the same as it had been in the past. Sixth grade had been a no-brainer; he was already in the oldest group in the school. Middle school was only two grades and he was able to rely on his own ruthlessness to dominate kids one year older than him. But Tillman spanned six years; sure he'd be older than the seventh- and eighth-graders but even he knew he probably couldn't take on the toughest twelfth-grader (even if he was a drama major or whatever sissy thing). It was_ possible_ but simply not worth the risk. After careful deliberation he decided to set his scopes on tenth grade. Unless the guy was _freaky_ big, Terrence would aim for finding and beating up the toughest kid in the tenth grade and go from there. 

His path thus carved, Terrence hurried on to school. There was no time to waste. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The day started with ninth-grade Algebra. Something about having to tackle Algebra first thing in the morning struck Terrence as enormously unfair, but of course there was nothing to do but suck it up. The textbook was an intimidating robin's-egg-blue thing, which weighed more than any textbook Terrence had ever had to schlep around in middle school. The next class, English, looked easy enough, but the assigned book seemed suspiciously dull. Then there was Biology, which, if it didn't turn out to assign too much homework, promised to be relatively interesting. 

Terrence was far too busy during these classes to tackle the snoopwork necessary to ferreting out his targets so when lunch rolled around he was all set to get to work. But just as he was approaching a small knot of what he hoped were tenth-graders he was intercepted by an emerald-green-haired Reese. Two other girls accompanied her - one wore all black and looked very grim and the other wore dingy ill-fitting boy's clothes and looked completely apathetic. Terrence was mildly surprised at Reese's choice in companions. He greeted her and waited for her to introduce the two girls but she didn't and they didn't seem to care at all. 

"Come eat with us," Reese said. 

"Oh," replied Terrence vaguely. "I'm um, not eating today." 

"Did you forget your lunch? You can have some of mine." 

"No, I...I'm just not hungry." 

"Yes you are," Reese replied, latching onto his arm and hauling him to a table. 

Somehow Terrence found himself unable to escape as Reese talked his ear off about her classes and her teachers and then demanded he share his own experiences. It turned out that Reese (and Fae) was in all advance classes, which was why he hadn't seen either of them all morning. When the bell rang all too soon Terrence, cursing himself, made his way to Spanish, which was dull beyond belief. Then he headed for the Music department. 

Music, as could be expected, was a double class, but to his dismay Terrence learned that a portion of it was to be devoted to bookwork. He hadn't known that in addition to playing music they would have to learn about it too. Bummer. But for the first day there would be neither. 

There were multiple halls so each of the grades could practice with only their own peers, and Terrence filed into the ninth-grade hall, found his assigned seat, and looked around. He wasn't in the least surprised to discover that he was last chair in the cello section, but he didn't appreciate it when he heard: 

"Get used to that chair, summer-school reject! You'll be there for four years!" 

"Reject!" parroted a second voice. 

It was Fae, of course, sitting in first chair - and she'd brought Adagio. 

"Hey!" yelled Terrence, jumping to his feet. "You can't have an imaginary friend at school!" 

"Can so," Fae replied coolly, eying him. "There's no rule against it." 

Terrence glowered. "Says you," he snapped, and shouted down to Chess, who had just walked in: "Chess! Hey Chess! Fae can't have her stupid bird in here can she?" 

"Of course she can," said Chess, putting his attache case on the desk in the corner. "Imaginary friends are always allowed in schools. Even universities allow them." 

"But that's stupid!" yelled Terrence angrily. "That ugly bird'll crap on the sheet music!" 

The class roared with laughter but Chess didn't look amused. "Take your seat, Terrence," he said, and Terrence sulkily obeyed. While Chess took roll the boy went back to looking about the hall and spotted Bill Slocomb, second chair in the violin section. Ferndale Middle School's band didn't have a string section; he must have picked up the violin after he'd moved. Bill caught him staring at him and stared back; Terrence, rather than look away, leered meaningfully at the smaller boy, smugly thinking about how Bill - and countless others - would soon be under his thumb. It was only a matter of time. 

Everyone had come to class minus instruments today, as per the instructions that came with the acceptance letters. Those students who already owned an instrument would bring them the next day while the others, like Terrence, would have a school-owned instrument assigned for the year. Terrence wasn't about to ask Mom to buy him something that could cost hundreds of dollars if not more, even well used. He'd just have to go ghetto. It didn't bother him. 

Although he had to wonder if Fae was going to bring her electric cello to class and if so, if he could get hold of it for a few minutes. 

"As you may or may not know," Chess started off the class, "There are four music instructors here at Tillman. I handle seventh to tenth grades. Seventh and eighth grades are the smallest and they are combined, so I teach two different classes every day; you all are second. When you get here every day you will study Music History with Mrs. Schubert." He indicated a middle-aged woman sitting at a desk to the side of the podium and she waved to the class. "The second half of class you'll spend with me, rehearsing. So I'll be back in about an hour, the greenies are waiting on me." He left. 

Mrs. Schubert spent her hour distributing textbooks and explaining the theory and practice of Music History. Most of the students, Terrence included, did little hide their boredom - Mrs. Schubert however took this in stride. Obviously she was used to it. 

But the class perked right back up when Chess returned and Mrs. Schubert went to bore the seventh- and eighth-graders. 

"Music majors are very busy folks," Chess told the class, leaning backwards on the front of the podium. "Not only at Tillman but everywhere - those of you who go on to major in music at universities will see that. _Everyone_ wants a piece of you if you're a music major. Animation and film students want music for their films. Theatre and dance majors want music for their shows. Voice majors want musical accompaniment for their performances. Even art majors want live music for their art shows. You will be _very_ popular here, especially after you've got a few years under your belt. Upperclassmen music majors are more in demand around here than napkins at a barbeque. Those of you in your first year at Tillman will find out the hard way that sometimes you just gotta say no, or your grades in your other classes will suffer. So be careful." 

Terrence groaned. Great. Now he'd never get his homework done. He'd just have to say no to everybody then. He didn't want to play goofy music for some kid's sloppy cartoon anyways. 

Chess talked for a while, answering questions; then handed over the rest of the hour for the music students to use to get to know each other better. Terrence found that the students preferred mingling only with others who played the same instruments as themselves, so he resigned himself to doing the same. The other ninth-grade cellists besides himself and Fae were a girl named Bea in second chair, and a boy named Ferd...in third. Ferd found this rather funny, as did Bea. Fae and Terrence both thought it was pretty corny, but neither said so. 

As Fae had been at Tillman the longest (she was the only one who was not new this year) she spent the remainder of class telling the other three about what to expect from their fellow music students. "The flutes are the meanest," she said, referring to people by the instruments they played. "They don't like anyone to play louder than them. The French horns are the snootiest because they think they have the hardest instrument - they so don't. The percussions are actually kinda snootier I think but they hate being snubbed so they try to be nice. The violins - " here both Adagio and Fae made disgusted faces - "well, get used to the violins. You'll have to practice with them a lot. But they're always smug because they get wild solos. They're always saying: Violins are wild, cellos are mild. They're such idiots." 

Terrence pretended to listen to Fae prate on but when class time was up he bolted for the door. Technically school wasn't over - there was a free 40-minute period at the end of the day that was "recommended" for studying, making use of the Library, that sort of thing - but Terrence was hoping he could still track down his elusive prey before the rest of the students went home. (Besides, he thought it was rather stupid that Gym, which should have occupied that slot, was not a required elective. Served the school right if he flaked.) 

After dropping all of his stuff off at his locker (he preferred to scout unencumbered) Terrence slunk around the perimeter of the school grounds, knowing that's where a lot of rebel-type kids would be lurking. They'd know what direction to point him in. But after a minute or so of walking Terrence got the undeniable feeling that he was being watched, and keenly. A glance over his shoulder and he spotted a very large, well-muscled older kid tailing him several yards behind. Terrence tried walking nonchalantly in a different direction but the big kid dogged him, making no attempt to disguise his watchful glare. 

This was a bad sign. 

Terrence slipped around another corner and bolted for another building but the big kid broke into a run as well and it was clear that Terrence was outmatched in the speed department. He zigged and zagged around buildings and the occasional tree as he attempted to flee the school grounds but he was grabbed from behind and spun around roughly. 

"You're Terrence Vaughn, right?" asked the kid, who wasn't even winded. 

Terrence blinked back at him. The kid was tall, and broad-shouldered - definitely lifted weights - and clean-cut. Most likely a twelfth-grader, by his size. Kinda looked like the all-American quarterback and would have cast the picture of a nice guy if he wasn't dangling a skinny ninth-grader by his shirt a good foot above the ground. 

"Well?" prompted the kid, lifting an eyebrow expectantly. 

"So what if I am?" Terrence spat, trying not to struggle. He glanced around anxiously to see how many other kids were witnessing this but they were alone. 

"_So_, I've been tipped off that a new kid matching your description and named Terrence Vaughn likes to be the top bully in his school," the kid replied, lowering Terrence to the ground but not releasing his shirt. 

"So?" 

The kid paused. "So," he said at length, "I don't like bullies." 

That took Terrence by surprise. "And what the hell do you call yourself, then?" he demanded, finally starting to struggle to free himself. "You just assaulted me! I can get you detention!" 

The kid seemed amused. "I _call_ myself Todd," he replied. "And like I said, I don't like bullies. Bullies are sad, sorry little people who never learned to play well with others. They're not tough, and they're not cool, and they're not respected, and if I _ever_ hear that you've been pushing other kids around in _my_ school..." Todd bent to put his face in Terrence's face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to get you _removed_ from my school." 

Terrence stared back up at Todd in horrified confusion. "You gonna get me expelled or hospitalized?" he gasped. 

Todd grinned back. "I'm a double major. I know how to multitask," he said meaningfully. He released Terrence then, but laid a heavy hand on the fourteen-year-old's shoulder before he could step away. "Take my advice," Todd said then, looking thoughtful. "Lording it over other people might make you feel superior for a little while but it doesn't do you any good in the long run if nobody likes you. Don't waste your time. And don't make me tell you again." With that Todd walked away, and Terrence, miraculously unscathed, scurried off to retrieve his stuff from his locker before running home. 

Well, at least Mom would be happy. 


	14. Part III: Chapter Four

**_Part III_**  
_Chapter Four_

Mac, tired from his first day in fourth grade, didn't stay long at Foster's and came home earlier than normal. En route to his room he glanced into Terrence's, the door of which was open, to spot his older brother laying on his back on the floor with his legs up on his bed, distractedly fingering his guitar, which wasn't plugged in. Unable to refrain himself, Mac leaned in the doorway and asked, "So how's high school?" The pale-faced, glassy-eyed stare he got in response prompted Mac to drop his backpack in the hallway and walk into the room. "Don't be dramatic," said Mac, sitting on the bed. "I really want to know what high school's like."

After pausing to decide whether or not to even answer Terrence gave in and let out a loud sigh. "It really sucks," he said. "Worse than middle school."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said nothing was worse than middle school," he challenged.

Terrence groaned. "Hell hath many levels," he stated, covering his face with his hands. He took his hands away and scowled up at Mac. "What'd _you_ do today, make macaroni necklaces and play with glitter?"

Mac, unoffended, grinned. "Yep," he said. "What'd _you_ get Mom for her birthday?" Wanting to change the subject before Terrence insulted him Mac went on: "So what happened today? Couldn't get anyone to give you their lunch money?" At Terrence's sudden look of guilt Mac leaned forward with interest. "Oh my God," he said quickly. "Someone took _your_ lunch money didn't they?"

Terrence gripped the neck of his guitar very tightly. "No!" he blurted, too quickly, as Mac grinned wider and scooted out of grabbing range.

"_You_ couldn't make top dog, could you? I knew it! You don't have a scratch on you! You chickened out!" Though he knew it was petty of him, Mac was ecstatic. He had hoped that the high school hierarchy would prove too much for his older brother and now it looked as if he may have been right.

Terrence also knew that Mac not only was expecting this but also was happy about it, and his anger quickly gave way to resignation. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was time to give up trying to always be in control of everything. Maybe that would be easier.

When rather than jumping up to throttle him Terrence merely slumped back and stared at the ceiling, Mac lost his jovial attitude. "Terrence?" he asked in concern. "Um...you okay?"

"...No."

"Jeez, Terrence." Mac sat next to the older boy's legs so that he was looking directly down into the other's face. "Life goes on, you know."

Terrence, not making eye contact, pouted but didn't reply.

"I mean," Mac continued, gesturing grandly, "there _are_ other things in life than knocking heads. There's...I dunno...hanging out and making friends. Maybe you should try it." He gently kicked Terrence's leg when there was still no response. "Who knows, you might _like_ being nice."

When Mac paused and Terrence's reaction was to continue to lie there staring vacantly at the ceiling, Mac rolled his eyes. "So, what, is this your new thing? This is that angst stuff Frankie's always talking about, isn't it? You're gonna lie on the floor of your room, clutching your guitar and staring at nothing?"

At last Terrence said something. It was: "Okay."

Another pause. Finally Mac exploded with, "I just don't _get_ you! You're a jerk, then you do something nice, then you're a jerk again; you're happy one minute then all...angsty the next! Am I gonna be like this when _I'm_ a teenager?"

Terrence heaved a deep sigh. "You're never going to have the same problems I do," he assured his brother.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "And what problems are _those?_" he demanded. "You're fast, you're strong, you've suddenly developed this amazing musical talent that Mom won't stop raving about...What problems could you _possibly_ have?"

At that Terrence broke his staring match with the ceiling to gaze at Mac with some surprise. "You're kidding," he said flatly.

"No," replied Mac.

Terrence narrowed his eyes. "Now you're making fun of me," he said angrily.

"No I'm not! I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Knock it off!" yelled Terrence, propping himself up on his elbows. "Look, it sucks to be the dumb kid, okay? But at least I made sure I was always the Dumb Kid In Charge! If I don't have the respect of all the other kids at school, I got _nothing!_ And now...now I'm just the Dumb Kid again. High school is gonna _suck_." With that Terrence flopped backwards and again gazed upwards morosely. "_You_ are _never_ going to have the same problems I do, _trust_ me."

Mac stared down at his brother, a little hurt. He didn't know Terrence was still bothered by that; he'd assumed the whole glasses thing had made him feel better about his intelligence. He sighed. "Okay," he said, "so you're not the brightest crayon in the box." It was blunt, but honest, and Terrence, unfazed, didn't even glance at him. "It's not everything, you know. To be smart, I mean. Everyone thinks I'm smart, well, it gets pretty annoying sometimes. People are always making me think for them, because they're lazy." He smirked. "Bloo does it all the time. You know," Mac went on thoughtfully after a moment of silence, "Mr. Herriman said something cool one time. 'Idiocy is an illusion created by the absence of tact.' That means that people who talk or act without thinking are the ones who look stupid, even if they're smart."

Mac hesitated, waiting for some acknowledgement. After a moment Terrence stirred and sighed, removing his glasses with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other. "That rabbit should take his own advice," he said slowly. "He's very rude."

Mac smiled. "You're right, he really doesn't think before he insults people."

"But that doesn't help me," Terrence went on glumly. "Taking a vow of silence wouldn't help my grades."

Mac's smile turned into a frown as he considered that. Then he brightened. "Okay," he said, "so, there's this butcher, right, and he wears a size eight shoe, been married ten years and has three kids, ages six, seven and nine. What does he weigh?"

Terrence stared at Mac without bothering to put his glasses back on. "Jesus, Mac!" he swore loudly, shocked. "You little shit! I tell you how stupid I am and you give me a freaking _math_ problem? Are you sadistic?"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Mac, waving his hands frantically before him. "Listen carefully: This butcher, he wears a size eight shoe, been married ten years and has three kids, ages six, seven and nine. What does he weigh?"

A death glare. "I dunno. Meat," Terrence snapped sarcastically.

Mac grinned. "Right," he said smugly.

Terrence slid his glasses on then. "_What?_"

"That's _right_. Meat. But you hadn't heard that one before, had you?"

"Like I pay attention to _math_ problems anyways - no, I hadn't."

"It's not a math problem. It's a logic test. Madame Foster gave it to me one time. I struggled with it for a week before I broke down and begged for the answer. I thought it was a math problem and I was trying to think it through. That's why I couldn't answer it. I was thinking too much. But you answered it in a second."

"I was being sarcastic," the teen argued. "You rattled off a bunch of numbers and I tuned them out. I heard 'butcher' and 'what does he weigh' and I was just trying to get you to leave me the hell alone."

Mac laughed and jumped off of the bed. "Okay," he said, heading for the door, "I'll leave you alone. Have fun with your angst, and tell Eddie Vedder I said hi." He left and disappeared into his own room, shutting the door behind him.

Terrence lay there on his back, thinking, not noticing when the sun fell to the horizon and the light coming through the vertical blinds waned and left the room draped in long shadows. He thought about going back to being the stupidest kid in his school, the one that made everyone else feel superior every time he was called on in class, the one who suffered the most from curves. He thought about Todd's statement that having respect was worth nothing if you had no friends. He thought about Mr. Herriman's misplaced advice, that it didn't matter how much intelligence or lack thereof you possessed of if you were constantly making an ass of yourself. And he thought about Mac's claim that sometimes one could be too smart for their own good. It was a lot of thinking for him, and he was taken by surprise when he woke up to find Mom standing over him, smiling.

"I see high school wore you out."

Blinking groggily, Terrence rolled over and sat up, pushing the guitar aside. "Oh, I...guess so."

"You're not the only one. Mac's still asleep in his room." Mom bent to ruffle his hair as he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Her eyes searched his face. "No trouble today?" she asked gently, and Terrence knew at once what she meant. No fights.

"No," he said.

The answer pleased her; she straightened up and gazed down at him with pleasure, unmistakable even in the dim light. "That's good," she said, and turned. "I brought things for sandwiches, come on into the kitchen when you're hungry, okay?" And she stepped out of the room, flipping on the light switch as she passed it. She lingered in the hall, and turned back in his direction. "You know," she said, "I knew you'd make the right decision today. I really did." Another smile, and she left.

Had he really made the right decision? Terrence wondered as he went to wash up in the bathroom. Or had it been made for him? Did it matter who made a good decision, as long as it got made at all?

In the end, Terrence gave up trying to figure out these paradoxes and settled himself with the knowledge that at least for now, Mom was happy, Mac was leaving him alone, and life went on.


End file.
